


Dear Gilbert, My Dearest Anne,

by chill_mee



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (2016)
Genre: Anne with an E Season 4, F/F, F/M, I just needed an end, I need something to fill the void, M/M, Renew Anne with an E, SAVE ANNE WITH AN E, There might be smut but not sure yet, awae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 83,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chill_mee/pseuds/chill_mee
Summary: Anne is no longer tormented by the redness of her hair, but instead has new challenges to face: misogynistic professors, indolent newspapers, nonsensical notions of propriety, and a long distance relationship. She wants the world, but will she attain it? Exams, beaus, sweethearts, identity, sexuality, equality... and all that jazz.
Relationships: Diana Barry/Fred Wright, Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Jane Andrews/Original Character(s), Josie Pye/Original Male Character(s), Ruby Gillis & Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, Ruby Gillis/Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix & Muriel Stacy, Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix/Muriel Stacy, Tillie Boulter/Paul
Comments: 121
Kudos: 211





	1. Silly and Ignorant Like Other Girls

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to fill the void after watching the series three times over during quarantine. Let me know if you'd be interested in me continuing this fic!

Anne sat on her bed, looking at the mellow moonlight dancing on the nearly see-through material of the curtain. Her brain was racing and, as was usual when her mind was attested with frantic anticipation, she had soon come to the undeniable realisation that sleep was a futile enterprise. Classes started the soon-to-come morning that threatened to break the then motionless night. A lonely cricket chirped far away, and Anne was taken aback by the silence. Sometimes she could hear the howling of some drunkard soul many blocks from there or the anxious barking of stray dogs. Earlier that night, when she’d been forcing herself to get some rest, she’d used the clackety sound of passing carriages as vehicles for her imagination to fancy a dream attractive enough to drive her towards Morpheus’s domain. A few hours from dawn, however, the lonely cricket was the only interruption of the deafening quietness that afflicted Charlottetown, an uncanny feeling creeping around her as there was nothing else to be heard other than her breathing and Diana’s, across the room. In Green Gables, there was always the soft silence of muffled or distant noises of all kinds, creating a soothing bedtime symphony that she’d ridden with into sleep countless times. She agreed with herself that she would miss it most dearly, no lullaby more comforting that the sound of bugs, wind, nocturnal animals, a wandering owl, and _nature_ outside her window. Even the Snow Queen contributed to sing her asleep.

She had to admit that, for the first time in her life, her imagination could barely create a scenario more thrilling than her life had suddenly become. In a couple hours’ time she’d attend her first (real) day at Queen’s Academy, a day she felt had simultaneously loomed ever so distant and had approached so irrepressibly fast. She was ever so elated to be able to learn so much more than she had at school, and at the same time pursue her true vocation. It excited her to no end to know that she’d be learning about oh so many things she’d never ever thought she’d get the opportunity to even eye from a distance. She’d thought she was an orphan, and was to help overburdened mothers until she… succeeded in becoming Princess Cordelia once and for all, and her hair was no longer so horribly red?

She jerked at the sudden memory of Gilbert’s letter. It had arrived unexpectedly quick after she’d sent her own, made it into her hands by the end of her orientation week, postal service never been so efficient before. It was as though they had known it was a letter of great auspiciousness. The great auspiciousness being Gilbert Blythe was in love with her, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She’d told him in her letter she now loved her red hair, as it was the only heirloom her poor mother had bequeathed her before her untimely death. He replied he’d always loved her red hair, and the passionate and eye-catching flair it gave her. Diana had re-read that line at least 10 times when Anne had made the mistake of talking about it, and she’d leaned over her shoulder to read with her Gilbert’s letter. It satisfied Diana infinitely, to know her bosom friend had finally achieved romantic bliss with the man she had—secretly—hoped Anne would be courted by someday and—hopefully—maybe even marry on a distant, and thus sadly uncertain, future. Anne reddened at the memory of Gilbert’s letter, and then at the memory of the kiss they’d shared that fateful day they had finally crossed paths aware of how they felt. It had been too rushed, too little, and yet it was as if all her prayers had been answered at once: she’d wanted to be kissed and she was kissed, she’d wanted to kiss Gilbert and she’d kissed him. It was as though the memory would live untarnished forever in her mind but, at the same time, it was already far away, gone to where it would always pale in comparison to the real thing.

She had resolved she would not let it consume her, nevertheless. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was going to get a teaching license, alright, and no number of kisses would distract her of her goal – easier done, of course, when her beloved was miles and miles away engaged in a similar endeavour. They were to focus on their studies, she already knew too well how passionate Gilbert was about medicine, how he could bury his face in a book for hours on end, barely even lifting his gaze every now and then to meet hers… had he always been looking at her? All those times she thought it was because she was his competition, his rival, or because it was a coincidence, his eyes just resting from unwavering and avid hunger of knowledge, had he been _looking at her_? She sighed at the idea of having been a part of Gilbert’s imagination for longer than she could determine and, at her sigh, she felt Diana’s bed creak as she sat.

‘Anne? Can’t sleep again?’ Diana rubbed her eyes in the most delicate manner, her hair impossibly ordered for having just woken up.

‘Oh, Diana, I’m just so excited to start classes today, don’t you agree the morrow will bring a most auspicious day?’ She said, turning to face her friend across the room, making just part of her face out in the darkness, recognising her perennial gracefulness in her visible fragments. Diana arched an eyebrow, entering full consciousness as the haziness of just waking up faded away.

‘If this room were better lit, I would bet your face would be closer to the colour of your lively hair than the moon outside. As I am forced into this black-and-white business by the still impending sunrise, I have to point out that, just maybe, that is not the only thing keeping you up.’

‘Diana!’ Anne complained, playfully throwing her pillow towards her, feigning to be scandalised.

‘Just being honest, Anne. I myself had to fetch a fan after seeing you and Gilbert engage in such public display of affection. I can only imagine how stifling it must have been for you after taking part in it.’ Anne took a deep breath, and Diana grinned knowing what was bound to come racing out of her mouth afterwards.

‘Oh Diana, it was a most magical moment. Never could I, having a most active imagination, have devised a more thrilling encounter. He had come running, Diana, it felt as though he’d jumped right out of the pages of a novel, and had it rained it could not have been a more romantic instant when he cupped my face in his hand…’ Diana giggled.

‘…and he pressed his lips to mine. He has such soft lips, Diana, I could’ve never conceived it, and they are such an interesting texture juxtaposed to the roughness of his hands, like the difference of a rose bud and the bark of a new tree. He does have a splendid chin, indeed, and his eyes, Diana, did I tell you about his eyes?’ Diana imitated her, and Anne laughed.

‘If you’re tired of me talking about it, I’m ever so sorry, but it must be acknowledged that I thought my kiss would rest untouched on my lips forevermore and this was my one and only tragical romance. You must concede it is a great occurrence for me.’

‘Kissing is a thrilling occurrence, indeed. Ruby has prepared us both to be resilient in the face of infatuation, so don’t worry, you’ll never bore me, less so when, in your case, it is truly love.’ Their giggling faded for fear of being reprimanded, but the sun interrupted the night sky soon enough, the room washed in blues and then golden tones, until colour came back to it, item by item, and they readied themselves for breakfast and a most anticipated day.

. . .

There was something magical about Queen’s Academy, Anne thought. She’d already been given several tours and explained the workings and rules and day-to-day details she had to manage in order to get around by herself, but it still filled her with wonder whenever she turned a corner, as a castle of sorts seemed to unveil before her eyes. The main building itself was not very large, but it was cosy and elegant and seemed to ready her mind to the task of learning as much as she could. She was beyond ecstatic to learn there was a student paper, and then much more when the seniors talked to them about the possibilities of getting extra credit by attending a Creative Writing class, among others. They were warned, however, that those classes where supremely demanding and difficult, and were not to be taken lightly. At that remark, Ruby had sighed in disappointment, feeling her writing was doomed.

‘Take heart, Ruby, I think your stories provide much entertainment.’ Anne had consoled her, but Ruby had shaken her head, knowing all too well her stories were but merely flights of fancy a serious professor would throw out the window in the blink of an eye, unlike Anne’s.

‘It’s okay,’ she’d replied, taking comfort in Moody’s smile a couple meters away.

Anne thought of their futures there and she inhaled deeply, expanding her chest with all the excitement she felt as they entered their first lecture: English Literature. Not only the subject itself was beyond wonderful, but the professor was the one who taught the Creative Writing class. She took a seat next to Diana. The long tables of the lecture hall were not gender-divided, but an unspoken rule made all the women—as, society declared, they were women now—sit on one side and all the men, in the other. A sensible space was left in the centre between men and women, as if there were a big eye watching over all of them (and there was, the professor’s).

‘I’m Professor Thomas. We’ll be exploring great works of literature, but make no mistake, this class is not meant to be _fun_. We will not be entertaining our personal feelings or reactions to the works that are to be read. This is a serious academic environment, in which we will explore several writing styles and intellectual currents and literary movements. I expect you to keep up with the mandatory readings, I will make no allowances for students who do not comply with the course’s requirements. The complimentary readings are a suggestion, due to the school’s regulations, but they would also be compulsory if it were up to me, so take that into account, as they might be included in lectures’ discussions and assignments. Lectures will be held in the following manner: a dissertation on the class’s topic, during which no comments are allowed; a plenary, in which participation is not an option, but an obligation; and finally, a round of questions, which I beg you keep interesting and challenging. If you have nothing intelligent to say, however, I implore you to remain silent throughout.’ He grinned. ‘I expect the worse half of this class will be quiet as a graveyard.’ There was some stifled laughing from the men’s side of the room, and Anne did not feel grateful for the rather odd impression he was referring to the female students, but decided maybe she was being paranoid, and she’d just not gotten the joke.

The lesson was tedious, there was no denying it, but Anne still felt refreshed by the works listed in the syllabus and the prospect of learning “academic ways to discuss literature”. She gestured to Diana to go on without her, as she stayed behind along other curious minds, all of them men. Once the other students had solved their pressing questions or made introductions—distant relatives, family friends, and so on—Anne smiled widely and enthusiastically professor Thomas.

‘Professor, it was a very intriguing lesson, indeed, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions, if you don’t mind.’ Professor Thomas seemed much uninterested, but he humoured her anyway.

‘Go on, walk me outside of the classroom, I have someplace to be now.’ Anne nodded understandingly and trotted along the professor as he gathered his things and walked out of the room.

‘Well, I heard from some seniors you teach the Creative Writing class—’

‘Now, now, child.’ He cut her off. Anne could not hide the surprise of being called a child. A first, ever since she’d put on her corset before leaving Green Gables. ‘The Creative Writing class is a herculean endeavour of mine to provide extra credit to students deadly set in their goals and is not a place for writing daydreams of romance.’ Anne cleared her throat, in an attempt to hold back her temper.

‘I am much aware that the class is no child’s game, professor. I have experience writing and having my worked critiqued, and I have been published before. I assure you I am very capable and serious about this.’ At the mention of the word “published” the professor arched an eyebrow, at which Anne promptly responded: ‘I have written for my school paper, sir, several columns and articles about different topics and—’ his sudden interest was lost and he dismissed her with a bat of his hand.

‘I insist miss…’

‘Shirley-Cuthbert, sir.’

‘Yes, miss Shirley, this is a class for students with clear goals and graduating prospects. I’m sure you think it’ll be entertaining and lovely while you wait for your M.R.S., but I assure you this is not a pastime, and thus you’ll have to excuse me.’

‘M.R.S.?’ Anne asked, baffled, but professor Thomas just tipped his hat and took his leave.

* * *

Gilbert had felt light as a cloud the rest of his journey to Toronto. The memory of Anne and their kisses repeating itself time and time again in his mind, his heart about to burst in his ever-expanding chest with the immensity of the emotions contained in it. A subtle sadness washed over him as he realised the closer he was to U of T, the further he got from Anne. He let go of a sad smile. A little over two years he’d shared with Anne and they’d only gotten a couple of stolen kisses before they were to be parted for years to come. _Not permanently, and not for the entirety of those years_ , he comforted himself. He brushed his knuckles against his lips, pensively to the unaware passengers, but in his thoughts he did what he could to relive the sensation of Anne’s lips on his, the surprise he felt when she up and kissed him, wordy Anne having no other response to his query than kissing the breath out of him. And what an answer that was: passionate, resolute, tender and caring, like the very woman who’d kindled a hearth in his heart. He felt his chest ache a little, the flames feeling warm and burning, like the ambivalence of the moment itself. He took it upon himself to make the most of the experience and took pen to paper to write down the many questions he had after such hurried reunion. If she loved him, why hadn’t she gone to find him after reading his letter? Was she worried about her studies? Where was she going in such a hurry when he’d gone to find her? How unearthly gorgeous she’d looked, her hair in the most godsent disarray, her dress an ode to the blue in her eyes.

The ride to Toronto had taken a toll on him, the day wasted away on the ferry and train. He loved exploring new places but, unlike his father, he had to admit he could do without the long hours of travel. He suddenly thought back to his time on the S.S. Primrose, and he corrected himself. He could do without the long hours of travel by himself, company made travelling far more enjoyable. He thought of visiting countless places with Anne, exploring the long and wide of the world, hand in hand, and his spirits were restored almost instantly. He became abruptly aware of the cacophony of sounds all around as he cheerfully got off the train: carriages, vendors, the whistles of different trains about to leave, the bustling of people coming in and out of the station, a strange roaring which he could only compare to the sound Miss Stacy’s bike made when she rode it. However would he find his way in this place without a guide? Just as if in answer, a modest middle-aged woman approached him.

‘I assume you’re Mr. Blythe?’ She said, with a certain parsimony Gilbert thought opposed maybe too drastically the frenzy of the station.

‘Did the Office of Admissions send for me?’ The woman gestured for Gilbert to follow her.

‘Something of the sort. I’m Mrs. Harrison, I work at the boarding house you’ll be staying at while you study, sir, and I was sent to fetch you, so you don’t wander aimlessly in the city. We were told you’re from a small town. The city’s a big change, eh?’ Toronto opened itself to Gilbert as they exited the train station, and he was reminded of his visit to New York.

‘I’ve visited big cities before, but I can’t say one gets used to it easily,’ he said, as he gaped at the electric streetlights right outside the station. He saw a few automobiles and recognised them as the source of the roars, remembering that in cities such as Toronto, these were a rather ordinary occurrence, albeit their number was not very high. He hopped into a carriage after Mrs. Harrison, and he watched the city unfold before him as they approached the University of Toronto, which did not take long to appear before them, in all its tall and bricked glory. His heart raced as he realised this was it, the place where he would finally realise his dream of becoming a doctor, doing research, become someone who could fight off illness and not just contain it. It was damned difficult to be so far away from Anne, but it would be well worth it, the view ascertained him.

. . .

Anne’s letter arrived so soon it took him by surprise. He had latterly settled in, met his roommate, Rudy Kitt, and propped the few books he’d carried with him on the bookshelf in his room, after deciding it was better done soon rather than letting them stay forever inside his suitcase. His enrolment had been officialised without a hitch, and he was enjoying the sweet anticipation of the classes to come. Kitt was to study Engineering, a subject which fascinated Gilbert enough to hear him talk his ears off the first night, tired as he was. The mention of Miss Stacy’s motorbike had only thrown his roommate into further excitement, surprised at the existence of a woman who was nothing short of a colleague of sorts, with her tinkering and all. They were having breakfast when Mrs. Harrison had handed him the letter, Anne’s penmanship tugging at his heart, and he felt his cheeks flush before he could stop it, her eyes always staring at him whenever he closed his at night. He swallowed his breakfast in as few bites as he could manage and did his best to walk as rapidly as he dared without running, sitting on his desk and opening the letter with hands trembling with excitement. He remembered receiving a letter of hers many years ago, when she’d found him in the middle of the ocean, and he could not contain the simple and sweet happiness it had provided him. She had such a hold of him, even back then. As much as he’d told Bash his reply to Anne’s letter back then was not a love letter, he could not shrug off the disappointment of not having received a reply, taking into consideration he’d misspelled a word just to trick her into writing back to at least call him out on it.

Once again, she was the first to reach out. He did not even try to fight the grin that crept into his lips as he read the “Dear Gilbert,” at the beginning of her letter. Just then, Kitt entered the room, and Gilbert almost fell off his chair as he jumped, startled.

‘Is that from Anne?’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow, quizzically. He had not told Kitt about Anne, yet. He would have, had Kitt not monopolised their conversation completely the one time they’d talked at length. ‘You talk in your sleep, sometimes. ‘Anne, oh, Anne,’ is one of your most frequent exclamations.’ Gilbert reddened furiously, swallowing with some difficulty and clearing his voice to gain some composure before he could reply. He would have a stern talk with Bash on the matter, how could he not have told him he talked in his sleep? Whatever he’d said while he slept on the ship, Bash had probably decided it more entertaining to listen in than letting him know he should find a way to keep quiet, that was for sure and certain.

‘Pardon me. I was not aware.’ Kitt dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand, amused more than anything else, as he sat on his bed across from Gilbert.

‘I think it’s sweet that you’re so taken with her,’ he stifled a laugh, ‘although I must admit it was a bit awkward to listen to your presumably improper dreams before being told anything about your girl.’ Gilbert had to cough again to save face, albeit the violent blush that attacked his face did little to help him in said endeavour.

‘Well, yes, Anne is the woman I’m courting back in PEI.’

‘Small town girl? Why not just marry her? Then you would’ve had her here with you instead of freaking out over letters.’ Gilbert snorted.

‘You clearly haven’t met Anne. She has her own ambitions and I have no doubt she wouldn’t have thought it twice before turning me down, had I asked her to marry me and cast aside her dreams. No, it is sad, but it is also the only option for us. I like that about her, she dreams as big and extravagant as she can, and she does not limit herself, or me, or us.’ He felt a silly tingle in his chest as he used the word ‘us’. There was an ‘us’ now.

‘Sounds like an interesting gal. I cannot, for the life of me, comprehend what’s so fantastic about tying oneself down, but I do not look down on those who are honestly smitten, it’s rather adorable, if I may say so.’

‘I’m far more blissful being adorable than a bachelor, so I really don’t mind.’

‘Now, Romeo, read your letter, I’ll lend an ear to your infatuated ranting afterward, if you need it.’ Kitt rested his back on his bed, leisurely, and Gilbert nodded gratefully.

‘Don’t go regretting this offer later, I assure you it’s cloying business.’ Kitt laughed a clear and melodic laugh, Gilbert feeling oddly comfortable in his presence. He could not help reminiscing of the S.S. Primrose again, this time the memory of meeting Bash and their first conversations, the strange familiarity he had felt towards that otherwise complete stranger. Kitt gave him a sensation not unlike that one, of sudden confidence.

‘You’re a man of science, Gilbert Blythe. I doubt you unveil yourself too quickly, I daresay you share a rather limited amount of information, then commit the rest to your midnight shenanigans.’

‘I see my subconscious has given you enough material to tease me indefinitely.’

‘I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon enough and then I’ll be able to sleep right through your mumbling.’

. . .

There were two women in his class, both permanently chaperoned, which confounded Gilbert most deeply. They were to be medical practitioners, it seemed demeaning to treat them like children when anatomy was just the truth of their profession. He sighed, mildly annoyed. The rest of the men in his class were all more or less his age, none of them seeming to be bothered in any way by the chaperones accompanying their classmates. He thought of Anne, how she would’ve never accepted to attend classes chaperoned if the men in the class did not have to do it as well. She would’ve probably come up with some outrageous yet brilliant plan to foster equality in the classroom. He would’ve loved to follow her lead into some scheme that would’ve most definitely gotten them in trouble, but he was sure would’ve also been incredibly thrilling and momentous. It had been only a week but, oh, how dearly he missed her already.

As soon as the class drew to an end, the other men gathered and called out to him, and so he approached them, with the easiness that had always made him quite the social butterfly, in spite of himself. They smiled amicably, introductions already been made, and one of them put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Say, Blythe, we were talking about grabbing a couple drinks this afternoon, to get better acquainted and celebrate the beginning of the year.’ The idea did not repel him, so he pondered it momentarily.

‘Sure, are we inviting the ladies as well? Because they seem to be leaving right now.’ He pointed out, as their classmates were taking their leave.

‘Oh, no need to worry about them, Blythe,’ another of them said. ‘I’m sure they won’t last long, they’re probably here in hopes to get their M.R.S.’ Gilbert’s affable smile faded as the meaning of it sunk in.

‘I doubt they would be wasting their time and money, and putting up with the ridiculousness of being chaperoned to class, if they were anything but serious about their studies,’ he replied, harshly. Trying not to stir any bad faith, he took a deep breath and added: ‘I just remembered I have urgent business to attend to anyway, but I wish you gentlemen a most wonderful afternoon.’ He nodded and took his leave, trying to catch up to the women who’d left the classroom, as they’d gotten quite ahead in the little time it took him to realise the small-mindedness of some of his future colleagues. He hastened his pace and was soon walking next to them.

‘Afternoon, ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting nor making you uncomfortable by being so bold, but may I walk with you?’ The two women looked at each other for a moment, their chaperones far behind them, their presence no longer compulsory, as the ladies kept each other company and were out of class. After a few muttered exchanges and some giggling, they turned to him, and one of them, with wide eyes and a small mouth, replied:

‘I’m sorry, Mr. ...?’ she trailed off, waiting for an answer.

‘Blythe. But please, call me Gilbert.’ Her companion giggled again and smiled apologetically.

‘Mr. Blythe, forgive me for being so bold myself, but I believe women in our position must be guarded, you’ll understand. I am only assuming what must be assumed in these circumstances and I regret to tell you that, albeit my friend and I do find you very brave and fairly attractive, both of us are promised to other men.’ They both held up their right hand, their engagement bands shining proudly, the giggliest of the two seemingly _truly_ sorry she was already engaged. Gilbert stifled a laugh and covered it up with a cough, a courtesy to his new acquaintances’ error.

‘That just about ruins my plans, then.’ He joked. ‘I fear I would not dare befriend two smart women who are promised to other men, especially since I’m spoken for myself.’ The one who hadn’t spoken before, hair every bit as golden as her friend’s was brown, gave her friend a small push with her elbow.

‘I’m so sorry, Gilbert, I may call you that, may I not? Christine here is a bit egotistical, as you have seen. I’m Mary Ann Daniels. This walking ego here is Christine Stuart. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ She held out a hand, and Gilbert shook it politely.

‘Yes, you may, of course. Do you spell Ann with or without an E?’ He asked immediately, a flash of his beloved in his mind, her freckled smile interrupting synopsis for a split second.

‘That is a very odd question,’ Mary Ann conceded, ‘but, uh, without an E.’ Christine, her tan face blushing at her own embarrassing assumption, held out her hand in turn.

‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gilbert. I’m sorry I acted so rashly, it just has been a difficult couple of days, what with everyone presuming right away we’re here to find a husband.’ Gilbert nodded, all too aware of the issue.

‘No offence was caused, really. I completely understand your situation and I apologise for the rude implications people have made about you. I’m sure you’re just as capable as any of the other students in our class, given that you made it into U of T, just like everybody else, and I’m sure even if you were not engaged, you would need no assistance or schemes to find a worthy husband.’

‘I told you he seemed chivalrous,’ Mary Ann said. Christine shot her friend a look, before turning back to Gilbert.

‘So, tell us, Gilbert Blythe, where are you from? Why would you rather approach us than spend the afternoon drinking with the rest of the class? Why would you care how Mary Ann spells her name?’ Their walk under the soon-to-be-autumnal trees had come to a halt, the ladies taking a seat on a bench, and Gilbert stood as it was proper to do.

‘Oh, well, I was born in Alberta, but I was raised in PEI, small farming town. I presume our reasons for not joining the rest of the class are similar, as you could have approached and suggested to join them. Since you didn’t, you probably realised their close-mindedness was not worth giving up this soft afternoon admiring the slow undressing of the deciduous trees.’ His voice almost trailed of for a moment, Anne’s distinct love for each season arising on every falling leaf. The trees had just started changing colour, but autumn did seem to arrive faster in Toronto. ‘As for Mary Ann, well, my Anne is an Anne with an E, so it would not do not to ask, as my Anne places much importance in her E.’

‘Your Anne?’ Mary Ann asked, curiously.

‘Well, he did say he was spoken for, Mary Ann.’ Christine reminded her. ‘You seem quite taken with her. Are you getting married soon?’ Gilbert sighed.

‘I’m afraid not. Anne wants to be the bride of adventure and I won’t be much of one until I get my degree.’ Mary Ann giggled, thinking the explanation silly.

‘I understand. For a moment there, I wish I had chosen to be the bride of adventure, but I suppose one makes big promises and then _they_ walk in and take your breath away,’ she said, looking fondly at the ring on her finger. Gilbert nodded, the feeling all too familiar, as if Anne’s slate were being smashed his head all over again. She had most definitely taken his breath away. He half hoped he at least had a ring to look at sadly. He sighed and nodded politely at the ladies in front of him.

‘Well, ladies, I’ll take my leave, but it’s been truly a pleasure to walk with you.’ Mary Ann smiled broadly.

‘We can study together sometime, if you want,’ she offered.

‘Only if miss Stuart is not bothered by it.’ Christine rolled her eyes.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t make terrible company, and I do learn better when I explain things to someone else, we could help each other out.’ Gilbert, however, did not engage with her taunt.

‘It would be an honour to have you as a tutor, miss Stuart,’ he accepted politely.

‘Please, call me Christine.’


	2. We Neither of Us Perform to Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to make this a k-drama situation in which I post two chapters a week, one day apart from each other. Do not hold it against me if I ever miss a deadline. Hope you enjoy.

_Dear Gilbert,_

_Your letter arrived so promptly I am inclined to believe the post office is either providentially efficient, or aware of the nature of our correspondence and is most invested in our success. I imagine you’re better acquainted with Charlottetown than I am, but I do think I have the upper hand when it comes to the unnatural soundlessness that possesses Charlottetown in the night’s latest hours. Not that I have been awake that late every night thinking of you, just a few, but I believe it is a most dreadful absence, the dead quiet that rolls over after a few hours of the sun being gone._

_Queen’s Academy is lovely, Gilbert, I know you’d like it. Maybe you’ve seen it from outside, I cannot be certain you haven’t, since you worked under Dr. Ward’s tutelage for quite a while. I am sure you have noticed the soft and swift transition of colour autumn brings to the trees in Charlottetown. I believe it is not that different from Avonlea in that aspect, although I must admit no number of trees in campus makes it anything like the woods on the way to school. We should walk in the woods sometime, when you have time to visit. I always adored spending entire mornings celebrating with nature, and I’m sure you’d love it, too. There is nothing quite like meeting wise and gentle trees, or watching over some giggly ducklings, feeling the river laugh. I think it would make a most splendid tryst._

_However lovely it is to watch the leaves’ hue warm up to season, I have had the most awful thing said to me recently, by a professor. I approached professor Thomas after our first English Literature class, as he is in charge of the Creative Writing class and I wanted to join in order to earn some extra credit, and would you believe he questioned my academic integrity and accused me of wasting everybody’s time? He said I was just bidding my time until I got an M.R.S., and his class was not a pastime. You could not imagine how my blood boiled when Diana explained to me what an M.R.S. meant. I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, enrolled for the sole superficial purpose of finding a husband? I am my own person with my very own ambitions, I cannot believe a professor, who should be most invested in my education, would imply such a thing. It’s preposterous! If I had wanted to get married instead of getting a teaching license, I would’ve married you and followed you to Toronto. Although I’m quite sure it’s not customary for women to propose. Why can’t women propose? If we love someone and want to spend the rest of our lives with them, shouldn’t we have the right to ask for it, too? Anyway, I’m going off-topic. If I had no aspirations other than romance, I would not be enduring the distance between you and me – although I must admit a long-distance relationship is the stuff of novels, there’s indeed nothing short of romantic epitome in such a relationship. Romance notwithstanding, it would make no sense to bother myself with a course of studies, and entrance and tuition fees, if I was just waiting for someone to propose. The nerve. In any case, I’ll make professor Thomas change his mind. I shall be relentless; he does not know me yet. I shall show him just how wrong he is about me, and he’ll beg me to join his class, you’ll see._

_I was about to sign my name, but your letter on the desk reminded me I had to answer the actual contents of it, specifically some questions you posed in it. I have no way to measure the length of time my heart has been partial to you, but I do know I realised I fancied you after the first time we danced together. I remember I was left most confused after the Dashing White Sergeant, confusion turning into anger as I was unable to identify the nature of my feelings, shaky and breathless at what seemed some bold flirting on your part. I was certain we were on the same page, but then you showed up to the county fair arm in arm with Winifred, and you cannot blame me for thinking you uninterested in me, Winifred being as lovely as she is, and the two of you being accompanied by her parents and all. I had spent years trying not to like you because Ruby liked you and, quite frankly, because my pride hurt deeply at the offence you incurred in the day we met. When I was about to allow myself to admit any feelings on my part, you seemed suddenly interested in another woman, one who could offer you a chance at a life I could never even write about for you. I do believe you were unfair asking me to resolve such internal turmoil in a couple seconds while I was drunk in the ruins after the Queen’s Academy entrance exams, especially considering you did not so much as state rather than imply I meant something to you. Nevertheless, I am aware Diana has already reprimanded you in that regard, so I think adding anything to the words of my bosom friend would be redundant. Soon after, however, I realised there was no denying that it was no trivial infatuation, nor was it a flight of fancy, but rather love I felt towards you. I was convinced that my chance had escaped me, timing a most evasive thing at the time. However, Marilla convinced me that if I loved you, I had to let you know. So, I mounted Burty to try and tell you, but by the time I got to your house, Hazel let me know you weren’t home. I chose to leave you a note, and I put the flower vase on the kitchen table on top of it, so as for it not to fly away, but seeing as you never read it, I suppose it must’ve been misplaced. Next thing I knew, I was travelling to Halifax with Aluk and Oqwatnuk, trying to solve the misunderstanding that had Ka’kwet brutally taken from her family (I forgot to ask on my last letter, but would you write about it to newspapers in Toronto? The more people know and are enraged about this, the sooner Ka’kwet shall be returned to her parents, or so we hope). By the time I got home, Marilla told me you’d decided to propose, and I had no response to my note to explain anything. Still, I resolved to stop agonising about whether or not you had even bothered to read my note, and walked up to your house once again, but this time Bash announced you had left for Charlottetown, and any and all the hopes I had harboured vanished._

_You must forgive me for my temper, I never learnt to tame it, as you are surely acutely aware, but you must understand how the events I have related in this letter led me to believe there was no future for us, and love does not conquer all. When I found your note on my dresser, my fountain pen on top, I gathered you had read my note after all, and were unable to face me. In an explosive second, I had torn your note to pieces and thrown it out my window – would you care to tell me some time the true contents of it? The pieces I collected the second I cooled down, I ordered with my already hurt and tired heart, managing to understand the complete opposite of what, I can now presume, you wrote. Disheartened, I just readied to leave for Charlottetown without further pressing the issue. As much as I wished for Winifred to disappear in a puff of smoke the day of the fair, I must recognise I was quick and unfair in my judgement of her, jealousy the most terrible prejudice. It was she who told me, upon running into her in my exploration of Charlottetown, that you were not engaged, and you were not going to Paris. I was on my way to board the first train to Bright River when you found me. All the times I had missed you in my attempts to tell you just how much I love you had seemingly conspired to bring you right in front of me at the very last second: I suppose there are moments that feel as though brought by fate or divine providence. However convoluted were the last weeks leading to our reunion, I can assure you I love you, irrevocably, unequivocally, infinitely, indefinitely. Do I miss you? Most dearly. Would I change anything in our story? Not a chance. We are where we need to be, pursuing our dreams. You will be a wonderful doctor, I haven’t a doubt, and I will do everything in my power to be the best teacher I can be. I believe we will only achieve happiness together if we allow each other to follow our dreams and our hearts, wherever they may lead us, and I have faith that they will, in time, lead us to each other._

_P.S. Send me a postcard from Toronto, I would love to be able to add it to the décor of my side of the room._

_Yours for at least those kisses that scandalised Diana most hilariously,_

_Anne Shirley-Cuthbert_

_My dearest Anne,_

_It delights me to receive a response this time around, and that I didn’t even have to misspell any words to hope you would do so. If you dislike the quiet in Charlottetown, you would love Toronto. I’m afraid there’s not much nature to admire as you would prefer, but there are ever so many curiosities and different characters… you would christen it a most extraordinary adventure, I’m certain. The city is bursting with life, even in the middle of the night. Sadly, classes have kept me much too occupied to explore the many distractions and attractions of the city. I would be eternally book-bound, no social interactions on my horizon if it weren’t for my roommate, Kitt, who every now and then forces me to take a break, and for a couple of classmates, who often stress the importance of proper rest for proper performance. As laborious as my days have become, I find my thoughts wandering to the realm of your person at every occurrence. Much in line with your righteous indignation, I could but imagine the outrage that would cause you to learn that my female classmates are required to attend classes chaperoned. They, too, have been repeatedly offended with the assumption that the only career in their minds is that of wife. It entertains me to think of the sort of uprisings you would instigate among the “well-behaved” women of U of T, and it makes me proud to know you would never stand by such injustice. Alas, as much as I would like to intercede for them, I believe you would tell me it is not my place to be yet another man telling them what to do._

_Answering your questions, if you so choose to, you may propose to me at your earliest convenience. I have the feeling I would not feel emasculated at all and, on the contrary, would be quite inclined to accept. You may even propose to any man of your fancy, I suppose, but do know it would render me most wretched to learn you’ve done so. In a completely unrelated matter, would you hold it against me if, come the time, I decided you were taking too long and popped the question myself? I promise to be as timely as humanly possible; I undoubtedly agree we have goals to meet before entertaining the idea of marriage – still, I have the suspicion that marriage with you would be nothing short of an epic adventure._

_The detailed descriptions of your surrounding scenery could not distract me from your admission of thinking of me late at night. Forgive my audacity, but it makes my mind race and dries my mouth to picture you doing so, and further confessions of the like might encourage me to commit another brazen act such as the much improper—and most exhilarating—kisses I gave you in our last encounter. Nevertheless, I take no responsibility for the kiss you gave me, such impassioned act is a breach of etiquette on your part (I am not morally opposed to such breaches of etiquette, for the record). I suppose there’s no point in denying it now, so I find it possible to confirm that yes, I was trying to woo you during the Dashing White Sergeant. What is more, I do not know if you remember or realised at all, but I even crafted a plan, in the spur of the moment, to get you to dance with me, instead of across from me. I would often try to talk to you or interact with you in a plausible yet interested way. I just found myself acting before thinking most of the time, when I was around you, trying to get close to you, have you look at me. I will not apologise for it, but I see how it must have been confusing, as it does not sound out of the realm of possibility that my brain fried every time I tried to be sincere with you and properly communicate my feelings; and I do concede that I had given you plausible doubt as to whether or not I reciprocated yours. Honestly, and forgive me for saying it, but I was confused, not only did Winifred offer me a realm of possibilities, but I also did genuinely like her. The conundrum of it all was whether fancy was enough for me to marry. I will not lie, after the night at the ruins, I convinced myself you were not interested in me, and that Winifred was the only option because, deep down, I knew that if you were a possibility, there was not even a competition or a choice to be made. Fight it as I tried, there was no denying the fact that I, too—I am so relieved to be able to add this ´too´—, love you, Sorbonne or not, Winifred or not, money or not. Once the truth slapped me repeatedly in the face, I came to the conclusion I could not wrong Winifred and marry her as second best, because once I made my mind privy to the contents of my heart, there was nothing beyond you. It was you or nothing. So much so, I even broke the promise I made Winifred when I wrote you the note to tell you, among other things, that I was not engaged – the rest of the contents, I think I will save for a rainy day. I’m sure they’ll remain true for days to come. If it weren’t for Miss Stacy’s connections, I might have even missed on the University of Toronto. The rest you already know._

_The walk in the woods is a date, maybe during Thanksgiving? I wish it were sooner, but I believe my and your studies will keep us mighty occupied until then._

_P.S. Of course, I’ll write to some newspapers. I’ll see if there’s any chance anyone I know has connections inside U of T’s paper, as well._

_P.P.S. I enclose a postcard of Toronto, you owe me a copper piece._

_Yours even now we’re not kissing,_

_Gilbert_


	3. I Was Not Then Master Enough of Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, ladies and gentlemen: yet another rendition of me trying to keep a story that'll comfort me in lieu of season 4. I hope it provides some comfort for you as well.

Thanksgiving seemed a lifetime away, and the prospect of seeing Gilbert only dulled the lengthy Saturday afternoons, especially from 2 till 4 pm, when her friends would ask her to chaperone at the parlour, so as not to have Miss Lily chaperoning instead. Even so, she was happy Gilbert had made some friends in Toronto. For all his mild nature when interacting with their classmates and such, it had not escaped Anne’s notice that Gilbert kept his life and feelings walled to almost everyone. She was worried he’d feel forlorn so far away from his family. She wanted him to be surrounded by good friends, so that he might feel yearning but never loneliness. Selfishly, she hoped he missed her as much as she missed him.

Anne had been hoping to see more of Cole now they were to live once again in the same town. Her plans had almost been thwarted by Cole’s admission to an art academy in Paris, but a mail fiasco gave them a year together in Charlottetown. As much as her heart glowed for Ruby’s wide smile whenever Moody entered the parlour of house Blackmore on Saturday afternoons, Anne enjoyed it better when it was not just her, alone in a corner, watching over them. She could definitely understand the need for a chaperone who was more lenient on sitting distance and kissing, she doubted she would be bothered by something so trivial as propriety if Gilbert could ever drop for a visit – although chances were, he was not going to be able to do so. Her comprehensiveness notwithstanding, sitting with Cole in the parlour was certainly more entertaining, even if it meant her friends had to sit a half a meter apart from her beaus, hand holding allowed, but still deserving of a warning look. She would’ve loved for Diana to chaperone with her but, alas, Diana had goals of her own. She’d agreed to get married the second she was done at Queen’s Academy, and smart as she was, if she had to be wed before she would like to, then she wouldn’t just meet suitors chosen by her mother. Every Saturday, Blackmore saw a parade of suitors, refined gentlemen, every one of them more handsome than the one that had come before him. They left almost as soon as they had entered, Diana heartlessly bidding them farewell whenever they lacked an item of her list of desired qualities, or committed a sin listed in her blacklist. Cole, on the other hand, had grown even taller since the last time she’d visited before moving into town. The dapper suits Aunt Jo had bought him made him look absolutely ravishing, causing Anne to be envied by unwitting witnesses wherever she walked arm in arm with him. Cole, on his turn, did not mind the deniability Anne’s company granted him, a shield against the prejudices of the world.

‘How do you intend to pay for this, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?’ He said while his graphite moved swiftly over paper, his wrist much strengthened by the time working with clay, but never the same as if it had been before. He now understood it provided him a new perspective, his technique transitioned and matured in response to it, not better, not worse, just different. Anne looked at the watercolour Cole had painted inspired on the portrait her father had made of her mother. Following Anne’s likeness and the drawing, Cole had crafted what, were it but for the sensitivity and etherealness the watercolour bestowed it, looked like Bertha Shirley in the flesh. Anne had cried when Cole had gifted it to her and, although it usually hung proudly on her room’s wall, she was admiring it while Cole once again captured her likeness.

‘Pay?’ She asked distractedly, admiring the work in her hands, the way the paper was ever so imperceptibly sunken where it had absorbed the watercolour. Her mother’s hair flowed every bit as red as hers, the first portrait she’d been given hardly competing with Cole’s accuracy. It was as if he’d met her, as if he’d breathed life into her father’s sketch. She had no doubt her father had attempted to capture her mother’s face with much love, but love did not make up for the difference in skill when juxtaposed with Cole’s mastery. She felt he was a time-traveller, a diviner, a wizard.

‘Commissioning art is an expensive thing to do.’

‘I pose for you whenever you ask!’ She replied, yanked into reality by Cole’s suggestion of her debt.

‘Your hair makes you a fun subject to capture, and I sit here with you every Saturday I can to thank you for it.’ Anne rolled her eyes.

‘You get the privilege of posing as my beau. Admit you like the attention. Lily blushes whenever you come calling, and I know you’re proud to be the only ‘suitor’ Mrs. Blackmore allows into the parlour on weekdays.’

‘She is a lover of the arts, we understand each other.’

‘She is a lover of flattery, and you know it. Between the kiss you bestowed her hand upon meeting her, and the undivided attention you granted her on your first visit, I wouldn’t be surprised if she began to let us meet in the parlour unchaperoned. Especially since she’s always lavishing you with compliments at meals, particularly when reminding us the rules of courtship, and the proper behaviour expected at the parlour when suitors come calling.’

‘Lily is too taken with me for that to happen.’ She peered at Lily, sat on a corner doing her needlework, the stitches going everywhere as she stole not too subtle glances at Cole. The couples in the room knew the second-best thing to Anne chaperoning, was Lily chaperoning when Cole came calling. Nothing so forward as a kiss could happen, but they got to sit closer and maybe steal a quick peck when she was entranced.

‘You are a perilous man indeed, Cole. Giving Lily hope like that, taking advantage of her to learn some sign language.’

‘Maybe I am. Don’t think changing the subject’s saved you. You are still going to owe me for this.’

‘Say, what exactly do you want in exchange?’ Cole’s demeanour darkened slightly, his body stiffening a little as he changed his posture in his seat.

‘Would you accompany me to Avonlea one weekend at your earliest convenience? I want to talk to my mother, see my siblings.’ Anne nodded understandingly.

‘Of course I would. You needn’t coerce me through payback of any kind.’

‘I doubt it’ll be a pleasant trip.’

‘Nonsense, you’re my friend.’ Cole smiled, relief and love flooding his expression.

‘I’ll have Rollings mail this special, so it doesn’t get wrinkled on the way.’

‘Do you think he’ll like it?’ Anne asked, suddenly nervous.

‘He loves you, doesn’t he? And the dimensions are discrete, it’s not like we’re insinuating he build you a shrine in his room.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘Indeed, I’m right, I was right when I told you Gilbert had a crush on you, and I am right as rain now when I tell you he’ll spend his monthly allowance on a frame to place this by his bed.’ Anne rolled her eyes exhaling tiredly, turning her attention out the window, where the birds flew by and into their nests and refuges, as small droplets of water started to christen the air and earth.

‘Seems I’ll have to walk you home, Mr. Right, as you have yet to develop powers to foresee the weather.’

‘Aunt Jo will have you stay for supper. Remind me to send Rollings to inform Mrs. Blackmore you might be arriving a little too close to curfew.’

‘This is why she loves you.’ They had a few minutes until four, and their attention was stolen by another suitor standing up, offended, and walking out the parlour. ‘Don’t you think she’s a little mean to them?’ Anne worried.

‘Diana? I would do the same in her position. If I had so many suitors and were not particularly invested in any of them, I would also strive to find the perfect one.’

‘But going through suitors like they are used handkerchiefs is so unromantic.’

‘Queens rarely marry for love,’ Cole observed. Anne looked at the dashing gentleman that came in after the other had left, taking a seat in front of Diana. Her face was glowing like a focal point in a chiaroscuro painting.

‘I suppose you’re right.’

. . .

After yet another failed attempt to get professor Thomas to include her in the Creative Writing class, Anne and her friends left the classroom with unbreakable spirits that were to keep fighting the good fight. Anne had been practically living in the library ever since she had declared (a one-sided) war to professor Thomas, and her friends had been as supportive as they could, joining her every day after class – although they never stayed very long, the librarian giving them nasty looks when a little over a half-hour into studying they drifted into conversation. Anne highly appreciated their efforts, nonetheless, and was sure to be making progress when, at least, the last class professor Thomas had acknowledged one of her comments during the plenary and had dignified two of her questions at the closing of the class with a response. Once more, her company dwindled little by little. Like a leak, her friends began filtering out of the library one by one. Only Diana and Ruby remained with her when they saw Prissy walk by. She came to a halt when she recognised the familiar faces in front of her.

‘Hi Prissy’ Diana and Ruby greeted as one, being distracted enough to notice Prissy immediately. Anne, on the other hand, had to be shaken into presence.

‘Hi girls!’ She greeted them, in a low voice. Her eyes widened as she seemed to remember something. ‘I have been hoping to run into you, as I’m sure Jane would probably have no interest in it, but’ she rummaged through a leather bag she carried with her, ‘I think it would be great if you joined us, Anne.’ Prissy handed her a small pamphlet, the words ‘votes for women’ in bright bold letters. ‘We expect to be a most enlightening organisation. We will be meeting every week at the ladies’ parlour in the southern building. It is but a modest room that used to be a supply room, but we are grateful Queen’s has acknowledged our work and granted us an office of sorts. We shall have lectures on subjects such as feminism, the works of Wollstonecraft, corsets, and even,’ her voice lowered considerably, ‘contraception.’

‘Contraception?’ Asked Anne, trying to match her volume to Prissy’s.

‘It will all be explained in the lectures themselves. Oh, also, do keep this a secret,’ she now considered Ruby and Diana, next to Anne. ‘Technically speaking, our college group is dedicated to promote and support female education and their academic endeavours. While not untruthful in any manner, if professors, or even other students, knew exactly the topics we discuss, we would probably have our room taken from us.’

‘Understood,’ they said in unison, and Anne was quick to conceal the pamphlet in one of her books.

. . .

Keeping something secret and talking it out with her friends in her room were, blessedly, two very different and separate things. They sat in their nightgowns in a circle, opening in front of them their handkerchiefs, with whatever they had been able to rescue from dinner, trying to replicate their school lunches, in a fashion, by stealing pastries during their meals and setting them orderly in front of them, careful to overlap the handkerchiefs perfectly, as they feared Mrs. Blackmore’s wrath, her rules on food in the bedrooms crystal clear: none. Only chocolates were allowed, and the only one lucky enough to have received a box of bonbons had been Diana, and it had only happened once, thanks to a wealthy suitor who’d almost ticked all the boxes in Diana’s list, except that, when they had leaned in to kiss one frisky afternoon, Diana discovered he had terrible breath.

Their studies kept them from meeting every night, but they knew that if they all picked up their napkin with their left hand at supper, everyone was available for a meeting. If anyone picked it up with the left one and passed it onto the right one, she allowed for the clique to meet without her. Picking it up with both hands meant there was a matter or utmost urgency to be addressed, and Anne was the proudest at having come up with such code. It made her feel like she was in a mystery novel, all secretive and sneaky. Pastries in front of them, Anne picked one and told the girls about Prissy’s invitation, and the first to talk was, expectedly, Jane.

‘That business is ridiculous. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: there’s nothing wrong with the status quo. We’re in college and we’ll marry well thanks to it.’ Anne shook her head.

‘My friend Ka’kwet is being held against her will in some sort of school-prison thanks to the status quo.’ A gloomy silence fell over them much faster than whenever they would discuss a polemic topic. Diana put a hand on top of Anne’s.

‘We understand, Anne. However, I know it to be risky business. In previous suffragette protests, women have been arrested. How are we going to explain to our parents we need to pay bail? Some men refuse to marry suffragettes. You cannot expect all of us to be willing to put our reputations on the line.’ Ruby’s eyes watered at Diana’s words.

‘They refuse to marry?’ She said, her bottom lip trembling and her voice cracking. ‘What if Moody hears we got that pamphlet and doesn’t want to propose?’ The pearly tears on her cheeks soon became rivers, as Ruby sniffled and wailed almost inaudibly.

‘It’s okay, Ruby, there’s nothing wrong with getting a pamphlet, and even if there was, Moody knows he’d be a fool to give you up,’ Tillie consoled her, hand on her shoulder, and Ruby’s shaky breath stabilised.

‘You think?’ They all nodded in unison, and Ruby composed herself. ‘It’s good he thinks I’m pretty when I cry, seeing how I cry so much.’ They laughed at the remark, truer words had never been spoken. Anne paused for a moment, Gilbert’s words reverberating in her mind as if he’d said them aloud: _it makes me proud to know you would never stand by such injustice_. She straightened her back.

‘Well, I will be attending, whether you come with me or not.’ Her friends looked at her, astonished, but truly not very surprised.

‘Aren’t you worried about what Gilbert may think if he gets word?’ Jane asked.

‘I like to think he loves me precisely for being the kind of person who would attend. And if he doesn’t, then he’s not the Gilbert I fell in love with, and I want nothing to do with him.’ To her surprise, Josie’s hand closed over hers.

‘I’ll be going too, Anne. I think their perspective might be riveting, and I want to hear it first-hand.’ Anne gave Josie’s hand a knowing squeeze, knowing pushing it too much might be a mistake, as Josie had only just begun warming up to her.

‘Well, I guess it’s been decided. Josie and I will be attending, and we’ll present on whatever we learn as soon as possible afterwards.’

. . .

As it turned out, and Anne and Josie were slightly disillusioned to find out, the first meeting was more about making introductions, administrative issues, and talking about past experiences, rather than a lecture. Anne shared several stories, and Josie was thankful she had left out her own harrowing experience not long ago at the county fair. Still, a calendar for the lectures was established, and thus they felt they at least had something to look forward to. At the end of the meeting, Anne turned to Josie.

‘I want to stay a little longer to talk with the board, do you mind?’ Josie pouted, and Anne rolled her eyes, defeatedly. ‘That’s alright, you can go first.’

‘See you, Anne.’ She said, leaving Anne anxiously waiting for a chance to talk to the women in charge of the organisation. Prissy, the head of PR, was standing next to Katie Pierce, the president of the group. She was standing, too, even though it would’ve been understandable for her to be sitting in the only chair Queen’s had provided them with. It was a sad little room, but the warmth of the women in it more than made up for it.

‘Hi Prissy, hi Katie,’ she beckoned them.

‘Kate, this is Anne, we attended the same school. I’ve told you about her.’ Anne was surprised to hear Prissy had talked about her to someone else, seeing how they were never very close in Avonlea, Anne repeatedly putting her foot in with Prissy.

‘Anne, yes!’ Katie said, green eyes sparkling with recognition. ‘Prissy has told me so much about you. We were hoping you could attend. You ran a newspaper with your classmates in school, did you not?’ Anne flushed at the recognition.

‘It was by no means a one-woman-effort, and it was a small-town gazette, but yes, I periodically submitted pieces and would often help as editor.’

‘Prissy has told me about some of the pieces you wrote. It sounds like you’re a very passionate writer. We’ve been needing someone like that, we want more women to form the files of Queen’s writers.’ Anne shied away at that, not knowing how to tell them her efforts had been insufficient thus far.

‘Oh, well, I have tried getting through to professor Thomas to let me enrol in the Creative Writing class—’

‘That troglodyte,’ Katie muttered. ‘He still lives in the middle ages.’

‘Don’t bother with him, Anne, he’s not worth the time and effort. He’ll torture you and, in the end, he won’t even let you join. No, we were talking about the Academy’s paper.’ Anne’s heart leapt with enthusiasm.

‘Oh, that would be most lovely! But, how? I have been to the paper office thrice now, and they always say they do not have any openings.’ Prissy dismissed the comment with a wave.

‘That’s just Jason’s stupid hazing, he thinks he has the right to turn everyone away again and again, saying he’s keeping amateurs out of the paper,’ she explained. ‘We have connections with a couple reporters and an editor. If you write a story that’s stirring, Anne, we might finally get a member in the paper.’

‘That’s marvellous! It is a great coincidence, I have been trying to get a story about my friend Ka’kwet run on a paper, she’s a Mi’kmaq girl taken from her village against her and her parents’ will, you see, and although we went to fetch her, they wouldn’t release her. They had cut her hair and changed her name to Hannah, her parents told me, and it is a most wretched thing to do a family and no matter how many—’ Katie’s eyes went wide at Anne’s ability to spew a thousand words per second.

‘Dear Anne, that sounds like a most tragic tale, and of course we want to give that story visibility. But we have to be strategic. We only have one shot at this, and we need to get it right. I know you are friends with them, but to the rest of the world the Mi’kmaq are dangerous and hard to empathise with. Queen’s Academy’s paper would never print an article on _savages_. No, I was thinking maybe you could write a review of some papers our members have written. It would shed light on our academic efforts and would surely be run if you write it well. It will ensure us future visibility, for writing about more controversial topics. It would also place you as a column writer, and having a writing space for opinions, more than stories, would be highly beneficial for all of us.’ Anne looked disappointed. She did not hold it against them, but the more she tried to get Ka’kwet’s story out there, the more she began to realise no one outside of Green Gables seemed to care. Like, truly, heartfeltly, desperately, care.

Being the last one to leave, she was annoyed to realise it had begun to pour in the time it took her to talk with the other women about her queries, queries she’d not resolved, her spirits too low to bring them up. It was not that she didn’t like to get wet, there was nothing short of vibrant in the rain, and the raindrops always imbued her spirit with a feeling of renewal and freedom, a purification ritual that had been revealed to her alone. It would do her some good, seeing how miserable she felt. The first time she’d showed up at Blackmore house’s steps, dripping like a street cat fell in a pond, however, Lily had frowned disapprovingly, and Mrs. Blackmore had given her an earful. Therefore, she would very much prefer not to repeat the experience and yet, this had been an honest mistake, she thought. The way she saw it, she had one of two choices: she could pout and feel miserable about her lack of foresight, or she could enjoy the cleansing fingers of the sky dripping on her and welcome the cold that might come with it with arms open. The house was not far from Queen’s, anyway. She, obviously, decided herself for the latter, knowing herself rather lucky, and took a step into the rain, taking a moment to feel it, letting go of a lonely, frustrated tear before beginning the walk home.

‘Forgot your umbrella, miss?’ A deep voice said, shattering the fanciful episode Anne had begun to craft for her walk in the rain. She turned, startled, and found a pair of dark eyes that scanned her inquisitively. Anne struggled to find words as the man gently held an umbrella in front of her, ready to shield her from the rain, the rain slowly drenching his coat and his lavish shirt, silk scarf and all, as he ensured there was a proper distance between them. His dark hair was sticking to his scalp as the water soaked it.

‘Ah, yes. I don’t mind walking in the rain. Please, cover yourself, I don’t want you catching a cold on my account.’ The umbrella, however, did not stop providing her shelter.

‘Nonsense, it would be my downfall as a gentleman to let you get rained on when it’s pouring like this.’ He gestured forward with his hand. ‘Shall we?’ Anne sighed in resignation.

‘If you insist, let it be as fair as possible for all involved,’ she announced, closing the distance between them so she could walk beside him, and the umbrella could cover both of them. Her companion, regardless, was much too broad and tall, and thus his shoulder furthest from her stuck out like a sore thumb, water falling off the umbrella on it like a waterfall. The mystery gentleman beamed in a smile, nonetheless, and they walked side by side out of the building.

‘Are you sure to walk beside me, miss…?’

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. There’s only one umbrella, and it would be awfully rude to deny you some of the protection you have so chivalrously provided.’

‘People might misunderstand, Miss Shirley.’

‘There is nothing to misunderstand. It’s raining, there’s two of us and only one umbrella.’ The man grinned with an odd glint in his eye, but Anne paid it no heed. ‘What’s your name, oh cordial knight?’ She joked.

‘Royal Gardner but, please, call me Roy.’

‘Sir Roy, then,’ Anne teased again, ‘thank you for aiding me in my hour of need.’

‘Do you always play make-believe like this?’

‘I think it makes daily occurrences much more worthy of being committed to memory, don’t you think?’ He thought about it for a second.

‘I think there’s no need for a specific reason to commit something to memory, one just does. But I can play along, if that’s what you deem appropriate in this situation.’

‘Indeed, I do.’ He nodded, not convinced of the purpose, but wanting to please her. ‘So, what brings you to Queen’s?’

‘Well, I wanted to pursue a bachelor’s degree, but my father refused to believe I wanted it for any other reason than to spite him. So he would not pay any four-year programme. I’m hoping my determination in attending any programme will show him I do this of my own volition.’ Anne nodded, then saw the gate of Blackmore house appear before them.

‘I must regretfully inform you we have arrived at my quarters, sir Roy, but I must insist you allow me to repay your kindness.’

‘Why, fair dame, the kindness was done to me when you allowed me to escort you to your place of residence.’ Anne laughed.

‘Seriously, Roy, thank you for your assistance.’ He nodded.

‘Much obliged. If I may—’ he cut himself. ‘No, that would be an imposition.’

‘What?’ Anne asked, curious.

‘May I come calling on you sometime?’ Anne was puzzled, what an odd way to ask her to be his friend.

‘You mean like, for us to pass time together?’ Roy nodded. ‘Oh, well. I do not have men other than my friend Cole visit me here, and I don’t want to cause a misunderstanding, so maybe we can get together to study sometime?’ He seemed mildly disappointed, and so he pondered it for a moment. ‘Or… we are having a picnic next Friday, maybe you could come with?’ He smiled again.

‘A picnic sounds grand.’ He nodded and disappeared cheerily into the rainy streets of Charlottetown, and Anne made sure to remove as much of the mud on her boots as she could, before running up the stairs to write to her beloved, blissfully unaware.

* * *

Kitt’s blue eyes peered curiously over his shoulder and Gilbert turned with a start, his heart in his mouth as he saw the smirk on his friend’s face. Gilbert rolled his eyes and handed over the small watercolour painting. The paper was thick and crisp and had a beautiful texture, it’s colour slightly off-white, letting the colours on it take over completely.

‘Now, do not get me wrong, Gilbert, but your Anne is a thing of beauty.’ He whistled contemplatively. ‘I might give up on being a bachelor for hair so vibrant as this. Is it a true likeness?’ Gilbert swallowed the tiniest pint of jealousy, as he knew Kitt truly didn’t mean any offence.

‘It is. I’m quite surprised, honestly. Even the freckles are spot on.’ He was handed the picture back and he stroke it gingerly with his thumb, Anne’s distracted half-profile smiling at something he couldn’t see. Her eyes made a stark contrast against the green of the bit of dress that made it into the portrait.

‘That is some very fine work, indeed. Did you have it commissioned? Not many artists work watercolours like that, it must have been expensive.’

‘I wouldn’t know. Anne commissioned the work to a friend of hers. I wasn’t aware she was planning a gift like this.’

‘Probably making sure there’s something in your room to let other women know you have a sweetheart.’

‘Anne’s not like that. She probably just knew I miss her.’ He picked up the note that came with the artwork, disregarded the moment he saw Anne’s face.

> _Dear Gilbert,_
> 
> _Anne commissioned this work unsure whether you’d like it or think it appropriate. I told her that, where she would have you keep it in a diary to look at while missing her, you most probably will keep it framed on your bedside, to stare at it dumfounded for hours._
> 
> _Don’t worry about the cost of it, it is paid for as long as you keep my friend happy. I’ll admit you came very close to not deserving this, but I’ll forgive you because men in love are idiotic and you simply were unable to stray from the norm. You can make up for it by coming to call on her on a Saturday from 2 to 4 pm unannounced. I know Toronto is a tiring journey away, but I’m sure Aunt Jo won’t deny Anne’s beau lodging and meals, especially if his visit itself is in the name of love._
> 
> _P.S. I had Anne put on paint on her lips and kiss the back of the painting. You’re welcome._
> 
>   1. _P. S. If you break her heart you owe me 50 dollars for the portrait, non-refundable._
> 

> 
> _Study hard, but don’t neglect your heart._
> 
> _Cole._

Gilbert, choosing to focus on the most pressing matter at hand, turned the portrait that rested on his desk and, sure enough, a peach stain was on the bottom right corner of the paper. Ears and neck reddening at the thought of Anne’s lips, he thought 50 dollars were a steal, as the portrait he held had gone from exquisite and certainly valuable, to unique and invaluable.

‘Her friend’s got you pegged,’ Kitt said, when Gilbert handed him the letter, slightly embarrassed but also too amused not to share. ‘Well, I have no talent with paintings, but I’m decent with a pencil, if you want to thank her.’ Gilbert turned to Kitt, brow arched in mild amazement.

‘I didn’t know you could draw.’

‘There’re many things you don’t know about me, Gilbert Blythe, but this should not have been one of them.’ He gestured with his hand to the many blueprints and designs of prototypes, peppered with equations and calculations all around them, that lay on his desk and decorated his walls. ‘I would say it is quite evident.’ Gilbert blushed and scratched his hair in bashfulness.

‘I’m sorry. It was careless of me not to notice.’ Kitt chuckled, his blond curls bouncing when he stood up, fingers on the bridge of his nose, fixing his glasses.

‘It’s okay, in the words of this “Cole”: men in love are idiotic.’ Gilbert shoved him affectionately, and they chuckled at Gilbert’s absent-mindedness.

. . .

The Oak’s residence was a beautiful house in downtown Toronto. Gilbert could only imagine how Anne would’ve loved to watch the cars go by and would have marvelled at all the shops that lined the main street on the way to the residence. It was the second time Gilbert had visited since his enrolment, the first time a hurried encounter, a lot of paperwork that needed to be finished and not much time to do it. Emily Oak was much younger than Gilbert had expected, roughly a couple years younger than Miss Stacy, and his surprise repeated now he saw her in plain daylight. Their connection notwithstanding, Doctor Oak wore a corset and had what he felt Mrs. Lynde would call a “good, tidy, Christian household”. Not that he did not appreciate Miss Stacy’s home, because he did. This time around the door was opened by Mr. Oak, a man so tall and sturdy he seemed to have earned his last name. Although he was very big, he was all lean muscle and rosy cheeks, the picture of health. The pink of his cheeks gave him a youthful air that diluted perfectly his imposing stature, turning him into an affable-looking sort. Mr. Oak had not been home the last time Gilbert had visited, and so he was quick to extend his hand so Gilbert could shake it.

‘Young man, it’s great to finally meet you!’ His handshake was strong but reassuring, and Gilbert felt safe and intimidated all at once. He made a quick mental note he had to work on his handshake, his self-confidence shattered in front of the kind man.

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Oak.’ He said, as Mr. Oak took his coat and his hat.

‘Oh, Edward, please, I’ll have none of that stuffy formality. I cannot take a moment of it.’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow, trying to push down his bafflement, remembering how Doctor Oak had hugged him the first time they met, warm in a way no Canadian woman—except, maybe, Anne?—would let herself be. ‘Come in, come in, Ems is picking the wine. I made _paella_ , a Spanish dish, I hope you’ll like it.’ Sure enough, as they approached the dining room, the smell of saffron, seafood and a strong scent he could not identify, hit him square in the face. It reminded him a bit of Mary’s cooking, so many different smells floating around the house whenever she cooked, the kitchen not only warming up the house, but the heart. ‘Wait a second, I’ll bring Ems so you can greet her.’ He took Mr. Oak’s leave as an opportunity to look at the house in the light of day. He was diverted to see his late-night assessment of this being a house Mrs. Lynde would agree with was, certainly, an error in judgement. The house was not grand, but it was spacious, lots of open archways and windows and light everywhere. The walls were carefully painted white on the upper half and mustard on the lower half. Photographs and sketches of many places decorated the walls. It felt like an exhibit of the world, Gilbert marvelled at it, Trinidad and his own travelling seemingly so long ago. There was a thud, and suddenly music flooded the dining room, taking Gilbert by surprise. Doctor Oak came in, tip toeing joyously at the rhythm of the flamenco that shook Gilbert’s heart with its passionate vocals.

‘Gilbert! How lovely to finally have you to dinner. It seems you’ve gotten quite popular very quickly.’ Gilbert received her embrace gladly but a bit uncomfortably, still not used to her way of greeting people.

‘Doctor Oak, what is this music?’

‘A phonograph! What marvellous times we live in, to have music come out of a machine. I might find a way to make it come out of your dead body if you don’t start calling me Emily.’ The threat altered him a little, but his uneasiness was soon dissipated by the memory of his brother, and how he would tease a little like that, too.

‘My apologies, Emily.’ She put her hand on his back and guided him to take a seat, then busying herself pouring wine. ‘What kind of music is this? What language are they singing in?’

‘ _Español, hijo mío, por supuesto, es un flamenco español_.’ Gilbert just furrowed his brows in discombobulation, making Doctor Oak laugh a loud and hearty laugh. ‘It’s Spanish, darling. I did some research in Spain for a couple of years, and I soon learnt that in Spain you either speak Spanish or you’re lost, as Spaniards care not for foreign languages.’ Mr. Oak came in just then, carrying a huge pan, filled with yellow rice and so many colours Gilbert was taken aback by such exuberant dish.

‘ _Fue ahí que conocí a esta mujer tan bella, bajo el sol abrasador de Valencia. Te veías tan guapa, Emily, como una buganvilia en flor_.’ Gilbert just blinked repeatedly, trying to mask how lost he was in such conversation. ‘Sorry, Gilbert, that was rude of me. Emily and I met while she was doing medical research in Spain and I was touring Europe doing research in Romance languages.’ He gestured the _paella_ in front of them. ‘Now, this is a very famous Spanish dish. Languages were not the only thing I researched; I am also an amateur chef. I collected as many recipes as I could during my time in Southern Europe. Dig in.’ He demonstrated, picking up his fork and just plunging into the pan, Emily following suit. Gilbert took a bite and was marvelled, the forkful so rich that everything he’d eaten before, but for Mary’s meals, paled in comparison. He turned to Mr. Oak.

‘Mr.—I mean, Edward, you cooked this?’

‘Delicious, isn’t it? The secret is the saffron. Well, and the Spanish _chorizos_ we were able to import through a friend of a friend. It truly makes all the difference. I can teach you, if you’d like.’ Gilbert almost gagged at the offer.

‘I’m ever so grateful at the offer, Edward, but I’m a terrible cook.’ He took another bite, enjoying every second of it. ‘If I may be so forward, however, my sweetheart would probably love for you to teach her, if I can ever manage to have her visit me here in Toronto.’ The Oaks smiled broadly.

‘Gilbert is clearly one of my kind, Edward. The ones who learn about wine so they can say they picked the wine, and just enjoy a lovely meal.’ She smiled knowingly at the mention of a sweetheart. ‘A fine young man is rarely single these days, of course you have a sweetheart. Who’s the lucky lady?’ Gilbert patted his mouth with a napkin and swallowed thoroughly, he’d expected a longer reply, and he’d stuffed his mouth as much as it was proper to do. The prospect of speaking about Anne meant more words than he could spew between bites. He took a sip of wine, bitter at first, an ever so slight yet stingy sourness filling his mouth, the beverage thick and decided on his tongue, so very different from the rum he’d shared with Bash in Trinidad. He took out a notebook from his satchel and handed Doctor Oak Anne’s portrait, proudly.

‘I’m carrying it with me until I can save enough to buy a proper frame,’ he explained. ‘A friend of hers is an artist, and I recently received it in the mail.’

‘She’s beautiful, Gilbert. You’re very lucky.’ She handed the thick piece of paper to her husband, who took it with careful hands.

‘I’m sure Ems and I have a nice frame lying somewhere unattended. It’d be our pleasure if you put it to good use,’ he said as he took in the painting, nodding approvingly.

‘Oh, no, Edward, I cannot accept such generosity.’ Edward shook his head dismissively, handing Gilbert the picture back.

‘Nonsense. Treasured feelings deserve to be preserved attentively. She looks like mischief incarnate, I bet you must be head over heels.’ Gilbert nodded, blushing with the tenderness he felt.

‘Her name is Anne. We went to the same school in PEI. She’s as bright as they make them, my Anne. She got the same score as me in the Queen’s Academy entrance exams and—˝ Doctor Oak cut him off immediately.

‘Same score? Why didn’t she send word to study here in Toronto?’

‘She wants to be a teacher. Queen’s Academy will give her a teaching license without any financial stress, I don’t think she ever contemplated a different option.’

‘I see. Wanting a bachelor’s degree is not out of the question for someone who wants to teach, however. I should know, Muriel studied a bachelor’s, too.’ Her remark caught Gilbert’s curiosity.

‘Oh, yes, how did you and Miss Stacy get acquainted? Did you run into each other at some U of T event or…?’

‘Jonah and I were colleagues.’ Gilbert mouthed a perfect ‘o’, realising all too suddenly how deeply personal the question he’d asked had turned.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘No worries. Jonah was a dear friend of mine. Muriel and I met when they began courting and in no time, I was attending their wedding. They were a lovely couple, very much in love. They actually inspired me to not be so hard-headed on the topic and contemplate the possibility of marriage. You see, Gilbert, even now, it is difficult to get married when you have a profession so intimidating to many suitors. Back then it was practically impossible, but Jonah and Muriel made me think maybe there was someone for everyone.’ Edward took her hand gently over the table.

‘I’m forever thankful to Muriel and Jonah, otherwise my lovely Emily would’ve never given me a second glance that fateful day in Valencia.’ Gilbert smiled tenderly. Their love was palpable and heart-warming, much like Mr. and Mrs. Lynde’s, so much so, it was comforting. Maybe he and Anne would be sitting like that someday? Reminiscing the day they met, how she’d smashed her slate on his head, how he’d cheekily used the opportunity to flirt with her, both too young to recognise what was going on.

. . .

They had to clear their throats, faces red, as they lifted their eyes from the reading. Mary Ann was out with her promised, strolling around some park on campus. Thus, only Christine and Gilbert were left studying in the library, a text on Hysteria in front of them. Both of them did their best to keep a straight, professional face when the time came to discuss it. They had a lecture on the subject the next day, and it would not do if they couldn’t even discuss it among themselves, in confidence. They had to actively participate if they were to ever get an invitation to help professors with their research.

‘Well, I think this is positive nonsense.’ Christine said, after a staring contest of who was to begin the discussion, the colour creeping up her throat forcing her to give in.

‘Freud’s writings are indeed very… disconcerting.’

‘Disconcerting? More like misogynistic and positively patronising! He’s clearly making up excuses for the fact he is unwilling to accept women are capable of experiencing pleasure and desire.’ Her anger subdued to embarrassment as she realised the implications of her outburst. They both coughed covertly, trying to remain professional.

‘I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t know, seeing as I am not a woman myself. It does appear to be rather biased to conduct research on the female psyche taking you solely as subjects of study without _consulting_ with you on the matter, as the rational beings you are.’ Christine nodded, chagrin fading slowly, trust invisibly growing between them.

‘It is unbelievable they are given credibility considering how prejudiced their research methods are. They do not even have a good diversity or number of subjects to support their theory. Mr. Freud’s psychology seems to me more like divination than anything else.’ Gilbert nodded understandingly.

‘I do think his writings on psychoanalysis are rather interesting, but his research on female hysteria, on the other hand, is nothing short of unsettling. It boggles the mind why scholars would have women be stoic and dispassionate beings, as if they weren’t participants in marital life, or persons of their own.’

‘They clearly want us in the kitchen, baby machines with not a penny to their name so we can neither surpass them in their fields nor run away and stop ironing their clothes. Marriage is just a deceiving ploy to get lifelong housekeeping free of charge, and a scapegoat for their own hysterical impulses.’ Gilbert’s expression went bleak at such prospect of marriage.

‘I would like to think there’re enjoyable benefits to marriage for both parties involved.’ Christine thought they had reached an acceptable conclusion on the topic, so she saw no harm of pestering Gilbert a little, just for the fun of it.

‘And what exactly would you know about marital benefits, Mr. Blythe? What are your intentions with that sweetheart of yours?’ Gilbert suffered a case of a violent cough and blood rushing to his face at Christine’s words.

‘Christine!’ He complained in a hushed voice. ‘What are you saying? If anyone heard, your engagement would be in severe trouble.’ Christine giggled, seeing as she could not laugh as loudly as she wanted, them being in the library and all.

‘We are in medical school; all propriety went overboard the minute we enrolled in this major. You and I know the chaperone that shadows me in classes is just for show.’

‘You are a dangerous woman, Miss Stuart.’

‘James always tells me so,’ she confessed with a proud smile.

‘James?’

‘My fiancé.’ Gilbert grinned.

‘I’m glad to know that man is aware what he is getting into. It would be unfair for him to enter such long commitment with you, seeing how risqué you can be with an acquaintance.’ Christine frowned.

‘I am deeply offended, Gilbert. I cannot believe you think of me like that.’

‘I’m sorry, I truly did not mean you are anything but a respectable lady.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Not that, Gilbert. I thought you considered me a friend. _I_ consider you a dear friend, at least.’ Gilbert’s expression softened as he took in Christine’s words.

‘I am ever so grateful you think of me so. Of course I think of you as a friend, Christine.’

. . .

The text on Hysteria did dark things to him. Late at night, his thoughts of Anne became dangerously daring, as his usual longing conjured her in all her sweet freckles, her hair undone like the last time they’d met. He held her hands and kissed her cheeks as he usually did in his visions of her, followed by a couple tender kisses that left them forehead to forehead. This time, however, Anne kissed him again, with intensity previously unknown, and he felt a sudden urge as his heart began to beat faster than ever before. Before he knew it, Anne was kissing his jaw, his neck, and his hands clasped desperately at her dress, releasing a few buttons that revealed the soft skin of her neck and collar. Anne went back to his lips, biting softly his bottom lip, and he felt a rush of blood that awoke him in his bed, acutely aware of the problem arisen, as he was suddenly reminded of Kitt’s presence only a few meters away. It was far from the first time he’d gotten an erection, the phenomenon constantly inconvenient early in the mornings since puberty, but it was usually nothing that morning chores could not dissipate.

In the quiet of the night, however, as much as he tried to tell himself over and over that he was not alone in the room, whenever he tried to shut his eyes and go back to sleep, he saw Anne, unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his chest, tracing his back, a feverish rush eclipsing his rational thought as the reverie trapped him in images of Anne, taking off her dress, a teasing smile on her lips as she grabbed his hands and placed them on her, and he sensed himself powerless to her beauty and her ardour, skin crumbling to ashes wherever Anne’s ghost touched him. The fantasy tormented him until the wee hours of the morning, when he felt Kitt stir and leave the room. His hands acted before he could think at the idea of Anne’s soft lips parting as she guided him to touch her. Relief washed over him a few moments before Kitt came back from wherever he’d gone to. He felt his heart beating in his throat, the experience all too novel and recent. He had touched himself before, there was nothing new in that. It was the first time, however, Anne’s figure had revealed herself like that in his dreams. The most scandalous thing that had happened in his imagination until then had been different variations of the kiss they’d shared. For all the teasing Kitt and Christine had subjected him to, it tortured him to know that, from then onwards, there really was something for him to blush about. He buried his face on his pillow, groaning in annoyance. A corner of his mind, however, was eager to fall back into that delirium. Was he ever to live in the flesh an encounter like that? Would Anne let him enact such things with her? Would she boss him around like he’d imagined?

Why did the idea of Anne taking command of him arouse him so?


	4. I Believe I Only Thought of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, chapter 4! I'm doing my best to stay a couple chapters ahead in my word document so I can keep posting with regularity. Just in case you haven't noticed, the chapters are going to be narration, letters, narration, letters, and so on, at least for the most part. I hope you enjoy these letters!

_Dear Gilbert,_

_For the sound of it, it seems like I will have to find a way to visit Toronto, it all appears to be too fascinating. I haven’t been to many places yet, and I believe any excuse for an adventure is worth pursuing – would you be mad if I used you as an excuse to indulge in the extravagancies of Toronto? Of course, it would make my heart burst with bliss to see you, but I cannot deny the novelty of an unknown territory might distract me a great deal. You could join me in my expedition, and revel in my discoveries and my company. I hope such a proposal is enough to tempt you to join me and forgive my excitable and curious nature. I would treasure forever the memory of us walking hand in hand in uncharted territory under the revolutionary concept of streetlights. Would you indulge me?_

_If it is any consolation to your strenuous student life, I have also been a recurrent visitor of the library. I daresay I have become its secret lover; I find any justifications I can to run to it and let it warm my mind with its scholarly embrace. I am ashamed to admit the library has tainted my fidelity to you, but I would reason that, as we share this addicting lover, it does not really count. On top of that, it’s certainly been a worthy affair, as I recently got professor Thomas to acknowledge my contributions in class. I hope you forget my indiscretion, because it has granted me many benefits._

_I suppose I also pass the time reading so I can get my mind off you. It warms my heart to read you think so often of me, and I suspect, on more than one occasion, our visions overlap. However, I do not wish for the thoughts of you to bring me anything other than joy, so whenever missing you becomes heart-wrenching, drowning in pages has proven comforting solace._

_Talking about injustices, recently we were invited to a suffragette meeting at Queen’s. Prissy is actually part of the board, can you believe it? I know she’s graduated, but she’s participating as an alumna. I’m in awe at how much she’s changed since the first time we met. My friends decided against going, worried it would affect the way their beaus thought of them, or their shots at a courtship. Your previous letter couldn’t have arrived at a better time, your words were still imprinted on my eyes and brain during this debate, giving me the encouragement I needed when my friends stepped back. Now, if you did not intend for me to engage in such rebellious affairs, I can only say you should’ve expected this much from me. Prissy and Katie, the president of the organisation, said we were to discuss things like the female vote, feminism, the works of Wollstonecraft, and even the “necessity” of corsets, and God knows how much I’d love to rid myself of this infernal contraption that barely leaves space for the chest to widen with the breath of a crisp and newborn morning, or the thrill of a fondest memory – sometimes, more often than not, one of you. Only Josie—yes, I was surprised, too—chose to follow me to the meeting. Solely introductions were made in the first evening, but I hope we’ll have exciting lectures soon. It does worry me that no matter who I talk to on the matter, no one seems particularly willing to raise awareness about Ka’kwet’s situation or push so it can be righted by the authorities._

_Moving onto an entirely different topic, I pray the present I sent you via Cole was not unwelcome, as I would truly hate it if you felt I overstepped by me doing such a thing. I just wished I had some way to see you every day even though I could not be with you, and Cole was only too kind to help me get a piece of me to you, so at least you could see me even when I’m not there. You are more than welcome to send it back, I will not feel offended if you think it too much, and Marilla will be more than happy to have another portrait of me. Personally, I think it’s a very thoughtful gift. Cole recently gave me a similar portrait he crafted of my mother and I was ever so moved to receive it. I understand the circumstances are different, but I did not see any harm._

_Speaking of Cole, he’s come calling on Saturday afternoons on and off since you left. We sit and chat and he draws or paints, and we peer curiously at our friends’ beaus. Diana has a file of men waiting for her every Saturday, so renowned her beauty has become – and her mother has been relentless in sending suitors, too. Jane is always out on Saturday afternoons (secret romance, maybe?), and Tillie has decided upon Paul 1, seeing as he has been far gentler and caring to her. He once even wrote her a poem, isn’t that romantical? – It, surprisingly, didn’t have any misspelled words, I checked. Mrs. Blackmore has grown terribly fond of Cole and what a shock she’ll get when she realises Cole is not my beau. I hope you don’t mind she thinks so, we have never told her that we’re courting, but we haven’t denied it either, simply because it makes it easier for Cole to visit, given that only men who are proper suitors are ever allowed in the premises of Blackmore house. Moreover, no matter how much affection I hold for my dear friend Cole, it is in no way comparable to the love I harbour for you, which seems to have only grown ever since I learnt you felt the same way about me. My stomach does a summersault whenever I think about the brief kisses we shared, and how I long to kiss you again. Take it for granted I’ll commit further breaches of etiquette in your presence during Thanksgiving._

_I hope I’m not leaving anything out of this letter._

_P.S. Thank you for writing to the papers, I truly appreciate it._

_Yours in the future kisses I’ll give you,_

_Anne_

_My dearest Anne,_

_I fear I will fall victim to temptation and kiss you if we’re walking alone at night in Toronto, but if you think it’s a risk worth taking, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest strolling around, even if it means taking a step back and blending in with the background. Of course, I would have to find you proper accommodations, so please do let me know in advance if you’re ever planning to actually visit. There’re tons of splendid people in Toronto that you’d love to meet and would love to meet you – it’s a little embarrassing to confess, but I may talk a bit too much about you. No one has complained so far, so I’m sure they find you just as captivating as I do. In fact, I recently had dinner with Doctor Oak and her husband and I’m more than certain you would love to meet them. Mr. Oak knows how to cook some of the most incredible dishes I’ve ever heard of or tasted, and as I recall from your perennial invasion of my kitchen to learn from Mary, I’m sure you’d love to have him teach them to you – he originally offered to teach me, but you know I have an uncanny knack for burning toast and salting porridge, so I suggested he shared his knowledge with you instead, if you ever visited._

_Ah, the library, a most tempting paramour. Yes, I’m closely acquainted with her charms. I am glad your affair with it has borne fruit. I’m certain professor Thomas is sure to crack any day now, maybe even before this letter reaches you – or so I wish for. I’m sorry you have to use the library as a distraction, I know my timing was far from perfect and had I not been so stubborn in the denial of my affections, or had I been more straightforward, we might’ve had at least a couple days together before we took our separate ways. I know you don’t blame me, but I still think I owe you an apology._

_You might not recall it, but you once said you “must be a relentless thorn in the side of those who refuse to amend the status quo” and I agreed with you then, and my position on this matter has not changed whatsoever. I know it’s redundant to say it, as I can read from your letter you have it more than clear, but do know that my opinion is not important if you believe in your heart the cause you’re defending is just. I truly have faith that we have a similar if not equal standing regarding most sociopolitical issues and, moreover, I am thoroughly convinced you’ll always fight for what’s right. However, in case some prejudice or small-mindedness led me to astray from the path of justice, I trust you’ll continue your struggle and your example will show me right from wrong. You have a beautiful moral compass, Anne, and I have always admired your passion and willingness to speak up and right the wrongs. I wouldn’t dream to stop you. I just want to follow you, and be there for you when the day’s been hard and you need a shoulder to lean on – although, for now, it’ll have to remain a metaphorical shoulder, as I can only support you through these letters. I do acknowledge, however, that Ka’kwet’s issue may go without much call as, regrettably, people do still think of the Mi’kmaq as nothing but savages and, albeit my faith in you is unwavering, the prospect is largely pessimistic. Nevertheless, we’ve learnt the world_ is _movable, even if by painstaking efforts._

_Cole’s masterpiece is now resting on my bedside table, in a frame the Oaks much generously gifted me to preserve your portrait. It is, truly, the most wonderful gift I have received in a long, long time, and I assure you it is indeed thoughtful, and it brightens my mornings when I wake and I see you first thing after opening my eyes, and it sweetens my nights when I see it and you smile me asleep. I’m sure Marilla would love it, too, but I’m afraid I’ll have to deny her the bliss of such lively depiction of you. Cole is truly an accomplished artist, only such talent could capture your buoyant nature with such precision, as well as the roguish glint in your eyes. I am fairly certain this is the next best thing to seeing you in the flesh. And, of course, I don’t mind what unsuspecting minds may think of the nature of your relationship with Cole, the people who matter know Cole and you are friends and that’s what’s truly important. I know this is not a competition, and much to my regret, Kitt’s artistic talent is much more logistical than sensitive, but I enclose a rough sketch Kitt offered to do, so you could get at least a semblance of me to look at every now and then. I hope you are able to see the resemblance, Kitt says I fumble too much and I’m a terrible subject, and I wholeheartedly agree._

_I’m starting to think maybe moving to Toronto was a smart move, as I’m no longer under the scrutiny of your friends, their judgement severe and unforgiving. What would they say of my affair with the library? I sense I am much safer under the cover of pen and paper than I would be studying at Queen’s. If I had the misfortune another suitor with my same name showed up at your doorstep, would I be Gilbert 1 or Gilbert 2? Giving numbers to suitors sounds like heartless business – I’m sure it’s all in good fun, but I remain properly wary of such a prospect. I’d be happy to suffer their endless assessments to enjoy more time by your side, yet I’m certain when all’s said and done, we’ll be grateful we followed the paths we did. I am convinced they lead to the same place._

_I positively look forward to your indiscretions. I’ll be more than pleased to assist you in anything you require to accomplish them. I’m sure it’ll be hard work, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice._

_Yours even if no kisses were involved,_

_Gilbert._


	5. His Affections Every Moment More Valuable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I took it upon myself to be /that/ pretentious writer and change the titles of the chapters, you may take it upon yourselves to figure out where they stem from, if the task amuses you. I do hope, however, you enjoy this chapter.

Roy was ten minutes early outside of Blackmore house, hands in his pockets as he fretted nervously. A set of anxious men waited outside, just as he did, trying not to look bothered, and miserably failing at it, too. A few minutes passed, and suddenly a tall figure walked past him. A blond man with a graceful step, who did not even tip his hat in his general direction as he directed himself to the door and rang the bell, unafraid. The maid made some gestures to him, and he made some back, albeit slightly clumsily. She beamed at the lean lad, and let him in. Roy was baffled, but his expression only allowed him to arch an eyebrow.

‘Coming for the picnic?’ A voice interrupted him, a man with a jittery demeanour but sweet expression, although Roy could tell he was clearly feeling him out.

‘Yes, Miss Shirley invited me to come.’

‘Oh, so you know Anne!’ Roy tried to hide the uncomfortable feeling that this random man seemed better acquainted with her than he was.

‘I do, we met on a rainy day, offered her my umbrella when I saw her ready to walk in the rain.’

‘Pleasure to meet you, Moody Spurgeon.’ He extended his hand, and Roy shook it firmly, although he was reluctant to do so. ‘Anne and I went to school together, we’re from the same town. I’m courting one of her friends, Ruby.’ Roy’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at Moody’s explanation, yet he was still unsure what to make of the fretful man.

‘Royal Gardner.’ He adopted the most relaxed pose he could muster, and asked as casually as he could: ‘Was the man that just passed by an acquaintance of yours, too?’

‘You mean Cole? I suppose he is, although he left school before it was over. I think he’s been living in Charlottetown since. It seems his life turned around, he used to be a farmer, like most people in our town, but he looks well off now. I wouldn’t know the details, though, we were never close.’ Roy nodded, wondering if all the blabbering was worth the knowledge that the man was Anne’s good friend. By the way she talked about him, he suspected he had nothing to worry about on that front; she seemed very fond of him, but in no way infatuated. ‘Oh, but he’s very close with Anne, I’m sure she’ll introduce him to you soon enough.’ He looked at Roy again, like he hadn’t paid attention to him before. ‘No date? If you have a sweetheart, you should’ve brought her, I’m sure Anne wouldn’t have minded.’ Roy looked at him, bewildered.

‘I am not courting anyone at the moment and, if I were, it would be awfully rude and highly improper to take Anne’s invitation and on top of that bring my sweetheart along.’ Moody shrugged.

‘Just a suggestion, no need to get worked up.’ He held up his hands, giving up, and he walked back to another man, who seemed far more comfortable with himself.

Soon enough, the ladies of house Blackmore were coming out the front door, and all the men waiting outside perked up to meet them. Roy saw Moody produce a bouquet of pastel pink primroses, and for the first time in the few minutes he’d known him, he thought Moody was not as slow as he seemed, in fact, he’d been quicker than him, as Roy realised it hadn’t even occurred to him to bring flowers. He took a mental note not to let it happen again, as he saw Anne approach arm in arm with Cole and a dark-haired woman whom he assumed was a friend of hers. Anne smiled happily at him, and he readily returned the gesture.

‘You made it! Oh, we’ll have so much fun, we’ve planned such a splendid afternoon.’ She turned to her friends. ‘Diana, Cole, this is Royal Gardner, he spared me an earful from Mrs. Blackmore one rainy afternoon.’ She then looked at him, proud as ever. ‘Roy, these are the best of friends I could ever ask for, Cole Mackenzie and Diana Barry.’ Cole shook his hand, politely yet inscrutable, and Diana smiled neither politely nor unreadable. It was very clear she was passing judgement, watching his every move. Roy was not stupid, he knew if he didn’t get Diana to like him, it wouldn’t matter whether or how much Anne did. She’d poison the well against him and that’d be the end of everything.

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintances.’ He made no sign to break their formation, but instead he walked to their side, a most awkward figure, walking along like a spare piece.

‘Oh, this is ridiculous, you stick like a sore thumb,’ Anne said, leaving Cole and Diana to walk behind them, joining Roy to stroll by his side. ‘I know a thing or two about being the new one around, so don’t worry, I won’t forsake you.’ Diana and Cole exchanged a glance, rolling their eyes.

‘I hate him already,’ Cole whispered.

‘He’s the worst. Did you see the way he looks at her?’

‘It’s almost as if he’s already mapped out their lives together, and our Anne is so oblivious she does nothing to deter his advances.’

‘I swear, if he tries anything with her, I shall show him we women are stronger than we look.’ Diana and Cole walked arm in arm plotting against Roy. A little ways behind them, a very satisfied Moody handed Ruby the bouquet he had prepared for the occasion.

‘I brought you these, you seem to like pink, so I thought maybe you’d like these.’ Ruby smiled sweetly.

‘Oh, Moody you’re so considerate!’ She smelled the flowers, and her eyes shone with adoration for her beau. She’d dreamed for so long about romance, but to be actually living many of her fantasies was far superior to dreaming them. She stood on her tiptoes and gave Moody a kiss on the cheek, the most daring thing she’d attempted so far, and even though they were both flushing furiously, she held his hand and set them to walk so as not to fall behind. Tillie and Paul were giving each other pecks every few other steps, whenever they thought no one was looking—people usually were—and would giggle following their bold move. Josie, against her better judgement, had invited one of their classmates, who’d come calling on her for the past two weeks, to join them. She was certain the easily excitable nature of her friends would certainly drive him away, since her passive aggressive invitation hadn’t done so already. However, Daniel, a broad and tall man who towered over Josie, seemed to be rather enjoying himself as he walked beside her. He’d not asked her why she appeared reluctant to walk with him arm in arm, but instead talked about family anecdotes and offered her the most affable smile she’d seen in any man ever. For all the strength the man undoubtedly had in him, it looked as if though all his energy was spent in his soft, amicable demeanour.

Far behind, where no one was really paying attention, Jane was walking arm in arm with Audrey, whom she’d introduced as a friend. They talked incessantly, and when Audrey almost tripped due to the irregularity of the terrain, Jane held her firmly, putting a lock of her hair, that had broken loose, back into place.

. . .

‘Listen, ladies. Doctor Lewis has agreed to come talk to us about this very polemic topic and has put her career on the line for the sake of giving us proper instruction that, hopefully, conduces to bodily autonomy and power balance in marriage. We are aware that, according to our calendars, we were to revise Wollstonecraft’s writings today, and the lecture on contraception was scheduled for later this year, but Doctor Lewis is to start research in England thanks to a recently awarded scholarship, and she was kind enough to keep her promise to us and ask if we could reschedule, so here we are. Please, give Doctor Lewis a silent applause.’ They had developed their silent applause with the help of an unaware Lily, Anne’s idea, of course. They were planning to have a series of guest lecturers, but for fear of drawing too much attention to themselves, they had readily welcomed this manner of showing their appreciation without making noise.

‘Thank you, Miss Andrews.’ Doctor Lewis had raven black hair and blue eyes and Anne thought she was an absolute vision. Not only was she a female doctor, she was definitely and positively divine. ‘I have been informed your knowledge on the topic of human reproduction is narrow if not either completely incorrect or definitely non-existent. I apologise society and ‘common decency’ have failed your education so. The repressive ideas that put shame on the very natural act of intercourse are solely there to reinforce the position of the woman as wife and nothing more. That being said, do take this information with the utmost care and seriousness, as it is not to be spoken or dealt with lightly. Simply knowing about the subject, without being a health professional, as am I, can regrettably tarnish your reputations. Albeit social standing being affected by chastity is most certainly medieval, I must stress the fact that this knowledge is to empower you, not to be used in such a way that could diminish you.’ All the women in the room were deadly silent. Anne could not believe that they were going to learn about the steps to conceive. She was abruptly flung to the time when Charlie had set in the tormenting doubt that too much emotion or thought could render her barren. My, how her friends would come to regret not attending the meetings. To her right, Josie had sat upright and held her hand, in what Anne could only interpret as a mix of curiosity and fear. She squeezed back, reassuringly, and Josie let go, as if nothing had happened. ‘Now, what I am about to relate will seem confusing, it may be alarming, and it could be considered scandalous by some of you. If you do not think you can take this lecture with objectivity and maturity, I kindly ask you to leave now. I will not take offence, nor will I think less of any of you, but I do not wish to cause a scene nor endanger my profession.’ A few women stood up at once and left with a polite nod. A few seconds passed, and a second group stood up and left as well. Only ten or so of them were left in the end. ‘Well, this is good enough. Let’s see. Yes, first things first. Human reproduction.’ Anne felt like a new world unfolded before her eyes. Her companions seemed confused or horrified, but so much made sense to her now. That was why she bled every month, that’s why her body was shaped the way it was. She felt suddenly ablaze with possibility, her body no longer an obscure and unknown dominion. Ignorance was certainly the father of fear, of shame. She felt liberated, freed from the dread of what was beyond her comprehension. ‘Now, when it comes to contraception, there are many methods that have been used for many years, but, alas, decorum has made it difficult to acquire them. I suppose that you may find diaphragms sold covertly, and if you must, they will help you, but, please, make sure to do so when you’ve married. Once again, I must beg of you that you remain responsible and show discretion, this knowledge is to empower you, not to jeopardise you. The idea is for you to avoid the risks of having too many children, not to further imperil yourselves by engaging in premarital sex. Although I agree the notion is quite archaic, I believe that is a topic for a debate you may have here amongst yourselves at a later date.’ For the first time in the entire lecture, someone felt the courage to raise her hand.

‘Doctor Lewis,’ a jittery woman with honey eyes said, ‘could you explain what a diaphragm is and how does it work?’ Doctor Lewis nodded politely.

‘Certainly, a diaphragm…’

. . .

Josie had gone awfully quiet since Doctor Lewis had begun her lecture, and Anne noticed something was off when Josie waited for her to finish talking to Doctor Lewis at the end of the lecture so they could walk back to Blackmore house together. As much as Josie preferred to go with Anne to the group’s meeting, that was just how long she liked to spend with only Anne for company. If Anne lagged behind for any reason, Josie would leave by herself, punctual as ever. Josie grabbed Anne’s hand when she got close, and Anne could feel Josie’s hands were horribly cold.

‘You’re freezing, Josie. Is anything the matter?’ Josie kept silent, which was every bit unlike her, Josie was never one to keep her opinion to herself, for better or for worse. They walked a while in silence, then Josie stopped abruptly, Anne’s arm tugged gently by her friend.

‘The lecture… it suddenly made me aware of the extent of Billy’s intentions this summer when he—’ Anne placed a hand above Josie’s shoulder, and let it fall comfortingly on it only when Josie nodded in approval.

‘I’m so sorry, Josie. At the time I didn’t make it easier for you, either.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ She held back some tears, Anne could see her blue eyes watery and lustrous.

‘One day we’ll live in a world were men are held accountable and people recognise women are not to blame.’ Josie nodded, hopeful.

‘You really think so? It seems exceedingly impossible to imagine such a thing.’

‘I’m sure it will be a great strife that women will have to brave for generations, but I’m certain, one day, you’ll have justice, Josie.’ Josie hugged her.

‘Thank you, Anne, for remaining optimistic. For giving me hope.’

. . .

‘So your parents own a construction company? That’s so exciting!’ Anne’s eyes shimmered under the soft autumn light, and her hair was the colour of the leaves that crunched softly under their feet.

‘I’ve always found it incredibly dull, part of the reason I’m studying here at Queens and not working with my father to learn the trade.’ Roy had offered to walk her home after their study session, and Anne saw no harm in spending a little more time in the company of her most recent friend.

‘Oh, but a construction company provides so much scope for the imagination. Imagine having to design a palace, or a manse so detailed it requires an expert artist eye to fill it with flourishes most elegant and aesthetic… and you’ve travelled because of it, too! My, how I long to visit faraway places someday.’ Roy smiled kindly, marvelled at Anne’s ability to find beauty and adventure in almost anything.

‘We could go, one day. My parents own a flat in New York, it would be great to show you around.’

‘New York? Yeah, I guess I could go someday…’ her voice trailed off, thinking how Gilbert had already been to New York. Maybe they could go together, and he could show her the places he’d visited, and they could walk hand in hand and explore the places he did not get to see. Roy felt his chest tighten as he held his breath, the dreamy look in Anne’s face reassuring him again there was nothing to worry about her friend, Cole, who called on her every Saturday as if he were her beau. He was about to voice his concern when they turned a corner and ran into Diana.

‘Anne!’ She exclaimed cheerfully, then she saw him, and her expression turned to one of civility. ‘Mr. Gardner. May I steal my friend away from you? I wanted to discuss some matters with her, and it would be most convenient to do so on our way home.’ He nodded understandingly.

‘Of course, Miss Barry.’ He looked at Anne. ‘I shall see thee again sometime, my fairest dame.’ Anne laughed.

‘I shall be seeing thee, Sir Roy—’ she was cut off by Diana yanking her arm and pulling her away. Anne, marvelling at the warmth of the autumn leaves, was unable to see Diana shooting daggers at Roy with her eyes, albeit Roy did notice alright. He realised he had missed the mark with Diana, and that mistake would cost him dearly.

‘Anne, what were you doing with him, what was all that funny business?’ Diana demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘What funny business? The “thee”s and “thou”s?’ Diana nodded. ‘Oh, dearest Diana, you know it’s just make-believe, we’ve done it a million times.’

‘But I’m your bosom friend!’

‘I’ve done it with the other girls, too.’

‘They are our friends.’ Anne rolled her eyes, exasperated by the vagueness of whatever Diana was trying to imply.

‘I know you don’t like him, but Roy is a friend, too.’ This time, it was Diana’s time to roll her eyes but, with a sigh, she looked straight at her friend, trying to remain as supportive and comprehensive as possible.

‘Do you like Roy, Anne?’ Anne’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

‘Diana! You know better than anyone that I don’t have eyes for anyone but Gilbert. I’ve talked your ear off about the kisses we shared and about his loving letters, and how well he’s doing in medical school and the friends he’s made—’ Diana smiled at her words, having confirmed her suspicions.

‘Yes, he’s a dream come true. I feared as much, my dearest friend, but you’re too oblivious for your own good. It was the same with Gilbert, he was beguiled by you for the longest time, but you couldn’t have seen it even if you’d tried. Well, now, believe me when I say Roy is sweet on you, Anne.’ Anne’s eyes widened with surprise.

‘That’s absolutely ludicrous, Diana. I know you mean well, but Roy and I have had no conversations that verge on romance whatsoever. He doesn’t see me that way.’ Diana took a deep breath.

‘Anne, look at the evidence. You met when he heroically rescued you from the rain. He immediately asked you to come calling on you which is the very definition of being sweet on someone and asking to court them. You, unaware and naïve, bless your soul, told him not to, but still invited him to the picnic. He spent the entirety of the picnic talking to you and trying to get to know you better—’

‘He didn’t know any of you, of course he did—˝

‘While he simultaneously tried to get on Cole and I’s good side.’

‘Which he clearly did not achieve.’

‘Because Cole and I could tell what his intentions are. Trust us, he wants to court you, and nothing else.’ Anne looked disappointed.

‘I don’t want to believe a man I think to be a friend would only seek to court me in return. If it were like you say, however, what would you have me do?’

‘There’s no need to be impolite. Just drop Gilbert’s name into the conversation every now and then, it will give him a hint without having to reject him, protecting his pride. He’s very perceptive, that much I’ll give him.’ Anne nodded.

‘I still don’t want to believe he would wilfully misunderstand me when I told him I only let Cole call on me to avoid misconceptions, but I’ll do it.’

‘Let’s hope I’m mistaken, and your comments will only be those of a woman in love talking about her beau.’

. . .

Anne held Gilbert’s portrait gingerly in her hands. He’d been right to point out Kitt’s technique was rough and unpolished in contrast to Cole’s, but somehow the preciseness of his strokes made Gilbert’s essence justice. It was a bit rough around the edges and yet it held a charm Anne was unable to shrug off. Maybe Cole could’ve caught the mischievous glint of his eyes better, but this rendition was beautiful in its own right. She knew better than to stroke it, the pencil would smudge and the drawing be ruined, so she just admired it, short of breath, for the better part of an hour, until Diana entered their room with a tired and long sigh. Hearing no comment at her entrance, Diana left her hat on the hanger to encounter her bosom friend clutching a piece of paper lost in thought. She inhaled slowly, and exhaled quietly, her spirit a little downcast. She’d been ever so lost since her little trysts with Jerry. What was love supposed to feel like? Was a flutter of the heart the same as the heart racing? Was it anything like infatuation, like obsession, like desire? She’d felt all of those emotions, yet love eluded her, a most resolved escapist. She took another deep breath before addressing the dearest of her friends.

‘Another letter from Gilbert?’ Anne jumped almost a meter from her bed, seeming instantly relieved to see Diana next to her instead of anyone else. Her face was red as her hair and her eyes darted to every possible place in the room before setting themselves back on Diana’s face. Diana arched an eyebrow, curious. Anne sighed heavily, finally hiding her face in one of her hands, as she handed the full-body portrait of her beau to her bosom friend.

‘Kitt, his roommate, drew it.’ Anne explained while Diana took in the work, it was unrefined, but a true likeness, if she’d ever seen Gilbert in the flesh.

‘It looks very much like him, aren’t you happy?’ She asked, confused at her friend’s reaction. Anne patted the space in front of her on the bed, and Diana sat with her.

‘I am but, dearest of Dianas, could I pose a scandalous question to you?’ Diana, always eager to talk about scandalous things, smiled interestedly and nodded reassuringly.

‘Do ask.’

‘I know you’ve told me you’ve never fallen in love with any of your suitors, but I know you’ve had a brisk here and there with some of them.’ Diana blushed ever so slightly at the mention of her imprudences, looking prouder than anything else. ‘My question is in regard to more… physical aspects of the romance business. Well, lately I’ve been having these heated _thoughts_ about Gilbert, and _dreams_ too, and well, have you ever felt, well, like a knot in your stomach when you kiss a man? Like a strong flame in you wanting to do more?’ Diana blushed at the question, clearly taken by surprise. ‘I know that the business of reproduction requires certain physical and anatomical cues, and that it can be, with proper preparation, pleasurable, but Doctor Lewis never mentioned it being something one would necessarily _want_ to engage in, her entire lecture was from a purely biological standpoint, all talk about feelings and sensations aside, except to reassure us it needn’t hurt—’ Diana’s head began to spin as Anne’s verbiage was let loose, and she saw the need to interrupt her friend on the spot.

‘Goodness me, Anne, please, slow down. Whatever do you mean with “business of reproduction” and “Doctor Lewis”?’

‘Oh, I forgot, the lecture at yesterday’s meeting had to do with human reproduction, I’m going to signal for us to meet at dinner. After you were all so eager a few months ago to learn what the “steps to consent” entailed, well, Josie and I were taught it all with acute detailedness. I’ll tell you and the girls everything about it at night but, Diana, back to my question, have you ever wanted to _touch_ a man while you’re kissing him? Have you ever wanted a man to touch _you_ while you are kissing him?’ Diana gasped at the question, and composed herself a bit before swallowing theatrically and readying herself to answer.

‘First of all, how dare you forget to tell me about such a lecture! I cannot believe I’ll actually have to hear it at the same time as the rest of the girls and not have to feign surprise as I usually do. Second of all, well, the short answer is yes. I’ve never done anything too bold, but, uhm, remember the suitor I entertained for almost two weeks before we had to break things off? Fred?’ Anne nodded. ‘Well, once we were kissing in an empty classroom a professor had forgotten to lock, and he asked if he could touch my breasts, over my dress, of course. You know it was not the first time I’ve let a man touch a little here and there to keep things interesting, but he, well, quite possibly it was not first time he’d done something of the like, because he was not so brusque or desperate with his touch, but instead brushed them softly over the fabric and it was so very nice… and suddenly there was this throb in between my legs, a sort of warmth beginning to appear. I must recognise I might have let him do more, but he did not try to do anything else nor did he ask to. I presume he was hoping to have me look forward to our next tryst, yet none of us could’ve known his father would pass and he would have to move back to Halifax.’ She sighed, the reminiscence leaving her with the slightest hint of longing. Anne was silent, like she never was, eyes wide and expression thoughtful, like she’d chanced on a revelation. Finally, she took Diana’s hands in hers, face full of wonder.

‘Oh, Diana, do you not think it wrong to want to do such things with men?’ Diana was perplexed, trying not to take it as an insult.

‘Well, I suppose it is mighty improper, but I would reason since many things in life which have been right and joyful to do have been against etiquette, that does not mean it is wrong.’ Anne grinned as if she’d told her Christmas had arrived early.

‘Bless you, Diana, you’ve taken a load off my chest. I thought and thought something that seemed so precious and magnificent, something that felt exhilarating yet had the glimmer of something that might indeed be glorious could not be wrong, but I’ve been known to put my foot in when it comes to decorum and propriety, especially in regards to matters such as these, so I just needed to know it wasn’t solely my impression.’ Diana smiled comfortingly.

‘I believe a lot is told to us to keep us from ruining our reputations and or having a child out of wedlock.’ Anne nodded in agreement. ‘Now, we have some time until dinner, tell me as much as you can about that lecture, I will not wait to be instructed on the matter with the rest like I’m not your bosom friend and you’re not mine.’

* * *

A triumphal stretch from Gilbert and a delighted squeal from Mary Ann and Christine announced midterms were over. He invited Kitt along, they were going to the lake and watch it ripple on the shore and drink themselves dumb. Of course, it being an activity that was highly improper, Christine and Mary Ann’s chaperones were going to tag along as well, but no one complained, as it seemed wise to keep some sober minds around them. James and Liam, Mary Anne’s fiancé, were supposed to join them at the lake, too. They readied their provisions: a couple bottles of wine, a bottle of ale, and some sandwiches Mary Ann had brought in a basket. Gilbert almost kissed her on the cheek in gratitude when she produced them, but knew Liam would not be very forgiving. He had a very possessive attitude towards his promised, something that certainly bothered Gilbert, but it was not his place to say anything. He made a mental note, however, not to engage in such behaviour around Anne. He was sure she would glare him into good behaviour any other way, but he would still prefer not to give her reasons to. They walked for a while, trying to get away from the foul-smelling and populated harbour. The further they got from the ships, the cleaner the water ran, and they found different groups peppering the shore every now and then, some fishing, some doing picnics, some drinking just like they planned to do. At last they sat down; the coast mostly clear.

The wine bottles passed from lips to lips, their bodies warming up in the chilling autumn breeze, the humidity by the lake not helping the overall feeling. Gilbert found the chaperones to be rather forgiving, as they did not even bat an eyelash when their protégés cuddled up to their fiancés, seeking warmth. Then again, they were engaged, not just courting, and he knew Mary Ann was to be wed come spring, and Christine had wished for a summer wedding, so all her friends and family could assist. He and Kitt were sitting quite closely together as well, the cold pushing all of them into a tight circle.

‘So, are you lads studying?’ Gilbert asked, realising he knew very little of his friends’ fiancés, but for their names.

‘No, I’ve taken over my father at the business, he’s spent from the trade and wanted out. My family owns one of the big general stores in the city. It’s good money, but management is a full-time job.’ James shrugged, knowing he couldn’t complain. ‘It’ll pay for a beautiful wedding, though,’ he added, kissing Christine’s ring hand. She giggled tipsily, already blushed from the toxin in her system.

‘I’ve been recently employed at the bank. I come from a family of accountants. It is rather dull, but no hard labour is involved, and it pays well.’ He looked at Mary Ann lovingly, and Gilbert was forced to admit that although his attitude was guarded, they were a very cute couple indeed. ‘Mary Ann’s family connections may be sending a promotion our way before my first year in the bank is up, so we may buy a house before long.’ Mary Ann gave him a dumbfounded yet pointed look.

‘But no children before I finish my studies,’ she threatened. Liam threw his hands up, in lieu of pledging innocence.

‘I know full well you’ll make my life impossible if I meddle in your plans for the future. I wouldn’t dare fuel your rage, I’m wholly aware you’re better to have as an ally than an enemy.’ Mary Ann nodded, proud of him, and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

‘How did you meet?’ Kitt interjected.

‘One of those rare happy arranged marriages,’ Mary Ann said.

‘Our families are very close and promised each other to become one single large family through us. Lucky for me, my Mary Ann is the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met.’

‘I suppose _I’ve_ seen better men, but Liam loves me, so it’s alright,’ she jested, and Liam gave her a pouty look. They all rolled their eyes, but the couple seemed to be in a world of their own.

‘On the other hand, I met James when he was considerate enough to drop a sack of flour open in front of me, covering me head to toe in a white layer, rendering me a perfect ghost.’ They laughed; the image of Christine covered in flour much too funny to be polite.

‘I was starstruck,’ James agreed. ‘So many years helping out at the store, and yet somehow heaven had never seen fit to place an angel in front of me until then.’ Christine sighed rolling her eyes, and it was clear to Gilbert that James had done the same retelling hundreds of times.

‘Flattery has always been his biggest flaw. After realising that there was someone under the white dust, he had the temerity to say:’

‘If this is what ghosts look like, I ought to soon depart the land of the living,’ James and Christine said in unison, and for all her efforts to show she could not care less for his flattery, she looked as if she’d fallen in love with him all over again.

Tired, but drunk and happy, they rose to get back to their respective residences when it got dark. They said their proper goodbyes, and Kitt and Gilbert found themselves stumbling back to their boarding house. In the dark cold night, Kitt, cheeks pink from the alcohol, looked at Gilbert, his eyes mysterious.

‘I know you’re taken, and you like women, and this is a weird thing to ask, but could you hold my hand until we get back home?’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow, but he limited himself to shrug and took Kitt’s hand in his.

‘What are friends for, if not to hold their drunken friends’ hand late at night?’ Kitt grinned gratefully, and Gilbert could’ve sworn he saw him sigh in relief.

‘Thanks, Gilbert.’

. . .

The following morning, he felt his head swimming as he tried to get up, and he suddenly realised this had to be one of the reasons such a pious community as Avonlea frowned upon drinking. A headache like that could not be conducive to a productive day, much less when most people were farmers and their days began as early as the sun rose and entailed much heavy work. He tossed and turned a while, feeling a little queasy. He turned once again, and saw Anne’s portrait smiling gently, her eyes marvelling at something. He’d forgotten to ask what she was gazing at while posing for the portrait. The trees outside, he guessed, as Anne’s fascination with the natural world was not lost in him. He reached out and grabbed the portrait in both hands, thumb grazing the glass over Anne’s face softly. Had he done her a disservice forcing them into a distance relationship? She’d been ready to go find him, but she hadn’t known he was bound for Toronto, he, on the other hand, had been all too knowledgeable the moment he left the train like a soul out of hell. He’d been much too ready for a life without her, he hadn’t even really _asked_ her anything that night at the ruins. He’d been too scared to bare his heart in front of her, so he’d driven her to a corner and only implied enough to confuse her. He ought to be better this time around, he resolved. His irresoluteness had hurt Winifred and had almost cost him his chance with Anne. He would not let it happen again: he knew what he wanted, he was certain, certain in a way that made his head spin with anticipation—and maybe also the hungover—and made him agitated like he had never been at the prospect of marrying Winnie and moving to Paris. To him, it meant this was a good thing. It meant this was what he was supposed to be doing, living the adventure, taking to the open road, like his father had often told him to. Perhaps, to him, travelling was to be the uncertainty of plunging into a life forever changing, unlike the more literal sense his father had fallen a willing prisoner to.

‘Healthy, free, the world before me,’ he recited, looking into the expansive blue of Anne’s watercolour eyes, glance falling softly on her terracotta hair. ‘The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose.’ He fell asleep again without noticing, clutching the portrait against his chest.

He awoke to the distinct smell of coffee, and a soft nudging on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Kitt pushing a cup against him. He slowly incorporated himself, rubbing his eyes, and put Anne’s portrait back on the nightstand, lest he broke it.

‘Had a good sleep?’ Kitt teased.

‘How did you get Mrs. Harrison to allow you to bring food upstairs? She hates it.’

‘She hates it, alright, but she _loves_ you. I daresay your sweetheart has some competition.’ Gilbert rolled his eyes, thankful for the coffee cup Kitt had brought him.

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten?’ He shrugged. ‘You don’t have classes until the afternoon, do you? I thought it best to let you sleep off some more of that hangover.’

‘I just need to drink water, maybe eat something.’ Gilbert sat on the edge of his bed, finishing his coffee.

‘Right, the good doctor.’

‘You seem okay, though.’

‘Not the first time nor the last time I’ll get drunk.’ He recognised, then he lowered his eyes, not really sure how to word what he wanted to say. ‘I’m sorry. I believe I was a bit out of line last night.’ Gilbert raised his eyebrows, confused, as the memories from the night before came in a rush into his mind. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

‘I meant what I said last night. I know people frown on men showing affection to each other, but I have found that following societal rules on everything would have robbed me of many wonderful people and cherished experiences. I gather, the entire scope of the human experience cannot be contained in whatever rules civil society has come up with. I know a couple people who would hold me in contempt if I tried to imply otherwise, too.’ Kitt sighed, sitting on his bed.

‘You’re a curious man, Gilbert Blythe.’

‘And you haven’t even met Anne, yet.’ Gilbert could feel the longing so palpable. He missed Bash, he missed Delly, he missed Hazel—even though she treated him like a stranger most of the time, affectionate in a way he knew was not familiar at all—but missing his family was nothing like missing Anne. Missing Anne felt like a void and a waterfall all at once.

‘You must miss her very much.’ He placed a supportive hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.

‘With every fibre of my being.’

. . .

Normally, they had but a few days off to celebrate Thanksgiving, but seeing as he was so far away from home, he got permission to stay away for a whole week. He wasn’t thrilled to miss a couple classes, but he’d read like a madman to get ahead on the readings, and the professors assured him it was an entirely regular thing for students who came from distant cities or other districts to leave for a longer time during a holiday. So, he sent a quick telegram to Cole, asking for boarding, and he set to fill his suitcase, humming and skipping around the room like a child. Kitt found the development amusing at the least, and adorable at the most, and could not hide a grin when Gilbert picked up the frame on his bedside table and kissed it audibly.

‘I’ll be seeing you soon, my love.’

‘So it is “my love” now, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, shut it, one day you’ll fall for someone and you’ll have but one functioning neurone that will only say her name over and over again.’

‘If such a thing were possible, I reckon I would’ve experienced it already. I know infatuation all too well, intoxicating for sure, but just like any drug, the high comes with a down, and I was never much of an addict. I enjoy it, sure, but sporadically.’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m not saying it _has_ to be that way, but it may happen for you yet.’ Kitt’s eyes expressed an emotion Gilbert could not identify, much like they had done that night after the lake, and so, he decided Kitt would tell him in time, if he wanted to tell him.

‘Is that your medical opinion, Dr Blythe?’

‘It is. Just you wait, I’ll be the first to point out the symptoms the second they appear.’ Kitt laughed and gave him a tight hug, before handing him an envelope, wax sealed. ‘This seems fancy.’

‘It’s for Anne, for letting me borrow her beau for one term at a time.’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow, curious. ‘The wax seal is to prevent you from prying into its contents.’

‘But you already sent her a sketch of me with my last letter.’

‘I insist, do not try to snoop the contents of the letter. It is for Anne, and for Anne’s eyes only. If you open it, she will know, and she will tell me, and the payback will be both painful and unforgettable.’ Gilbert winced.

‘Alright, alright, you don’t have to get all murderous about it, I will put it safely in my suitcase and forget about it until I can give it to Anne.’

‘When will you be seeing her again?’

‘Tomorrow. I’ll arrive today in Charlottetown, but I’ll be staying at a mutual friend’s home so I can surprise her and visit her tomorrow during her house’s visiting hours. She’s always sitting with a friend of hers in the parlour, or alone, chaperoning the rest of her friends. I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to be finally the one needing to be chaperoned.’ Kitt smiled.

‘I’m sure she will.’

. . .

He knocked the Oaks’ modest door, suitcase in hand. Doctor Oak had pestered him relentlessly about dropping by for an early lunch before getting on the train. He had only resisted for so long, the idea of an exquisite meal to provide sustenance for such an extensive journey incredibly tempting. Doctor Oak opened the door, wide smile and joyous demeanour, and she brought him into a tight hug before leading him inside the cosy house.

‘I’m so glad you agreed to drop by, Gilbert. Eddie and I had been hoping to have you over for Thanksgiving, although we knew it was a long shot, so it is great to give you a little taste before you go home.’ She led him to the parlour, where drinks had already been poured, a sweet-smelling and lightly steaming beverage, thick and dark red. ‘We got this recipe from a friend of a friend who was doing research in South America. It’s a fascinating place, really, we’ve been saving for a while now to direct our next research that way.’

‘Hopefully, after the extensive research the voyage is certain to require, I hope to become the first _real_ doctor of this home.’ Edward said, coming into the parlour with perfect timing. Gilbert frowned, confused, and Doctor Oak’s attitude became haughty as she turned to her husband.

‘ _Real_ doctor, you say? Prithee tell, _Doctor_ Oak, how do _you_ intend to heal someone that comes with you suffering from cholera?’

‘Well I reason being able to translate their tale to a medical practitioner who can assist them will certainly heal them.’

‘Of course you do.’ She said, resentfully, and Gilbert decided to interject in order to appease the situation.

‘You’re working on your doctoral thesis, Edward?’ Mr. Oak gathered his thoughts quickly, resolved to enlighten Gilbert about the topic of his research.

‘Well yes, Gilbert, I am. I will need to collect lots of data, which is why I am planning to travel to South America. As you may recall, Ems and I met while I was studying Romance languages in Europe, and now my research has led me to require analysis of South American variations. I have been told Spanish varies greatly from Mexico to Argentina, and Portuguese in Brazil is nothing like the Portuguese in Portugal. I am not very good nor am I specialised in Portuguese, but Brazil, I’ve heard, is a lovely and magical country, and I simply cannot pass the opportunity to visit. I would love to visit French Guyana to have a glimpse of their French, but I’ll be more than satisfied if we are able to visit as many Spanish-speaking countries as possible, and there’re so many.’ Gilbert took a sip of the beverage, as Mr. Oak ranted on. It was wine, he noticed, but it was thick and tepid, with a definite sweetness to it, and a hint of cinnamon and other spices he could not quite name. It chased the cold right out of his body. ‘Ah, to visit the Inca city of Machu Picchu, and the high-altitude city of La Paz… I’ve heard it’s so elevated in comparison to sea level one gets dizzy from the lack of oxygen, imagine!’ Doctor Oak rolled her eyes and made a gesture so they could enter the living room, aware Gilbert had not much time before he had to be at the station.

‘Don’t talk so much, Eddie, you’ll make his thoughts all knotted with so many words. Let us enjoy your fine cooking instead, my dear.’ It was Mr. Oak’s turn to roll his eyes, but he was too doting on his wife to take her comment to heart.

‘I made another delicacy this time, Gilbert, so I may persuade you to get your beautiful Anne to visit us sometime, we’d be happy to host her.’ Gilbert smiled.

‘She’d be elated to visit, I’m sure. She’s already excited about Toronto from all I’ve told her in my letters.’ He sat; expectant of whatever dish Edward had cooked for them this time. ‘Honestly, I would be the happiest if she were to come see me,’ he admitted.

‘You’ll be seeing her soon enough, so take heart, Gilbert.’ Doctor Oak consoled him. Mr. Oak lifted the lid of a pot in front of him, revealing a sweet-smelling preparation, porridge-looking, shrimps on top.

‘I’ve prepared a shrimp risotto, a reminder of the days I spent in Italy.’

‘It smells wonderful,’ he observed.

‘Well, no time to waste, is there? Let’s dig in,’ Doctor Oak said, as she grabbed a plate and began serving a good-sized portion on each plate.

. . .

It felt like an eternity had passed, and then some more, when he finally got off the train in Halifax and boarded the ferry headed to Charlottetown. Dusk approached steady and unhurried, the cold air sending chills down his spine, but he remained hovered over the rail, his hands reddening at the salty chillness around them. He was reminded, once again, of his time in the S.S. Primrose, how he could not avoid going on deck and watching the horizon extend before him, how he’d stared at it expectantly when Bash and he had decided to go back to Avonlea. Not before long, PEI welcomed him home, the sensation most foreign as, for quite a long time, he refused to believe Avonlea was anything but a prison of sorts. Now, however, the island harboured his family, and it was home to Anne, and wherever Anne was, he had started thinking that was where he belonged to.

The soft smell of the trees mixed with the salt of the sea wrapped around him as he descended, finding Cole at the dock, sticking like a sore thumb in the middle of merchants and sailors and beggars. He welcomed him with a firm shake, his movements more graceful, and somehow careless at the same time, than he remembered, and he couldn’t help but smile at seeing him so happy. They’d never talked much, but he knew he was precious to Anne and so he couldn’t help but care for his happiness, as it was something important for her.

‘Long trip?’ He asked, as they got in the carriage. Gilbert sighed audibly, exhausted.

‘Longest.’ Cole chuckled.

‘I’ll tell Rollings to draw you a bath as soon as we get there. You look and smell awful.’

‘Thanks?’ His tone was an offended one, but the smile on his face let Cole know he was just fine.

‘Josephine is beyond excited to meet you. She’s been talking non-stop about the beloved of her Anne, and what an incredible man he must be.’ Gilbert winced.

‘Now I’m nervous, I feel like I might disappoint. It seems as though yesterday I was still being called a child, with no expectations thrust upon me.’ The dark circles under his eyes from the long journey were accentuated by the dim light inside the carriage.

‘Normally, I would say brace yourself. But Anne chose you, which you should wear as a badge of honour, it’s marked you as worthy.’ He went silent for a moment, staggered at Cole’s faith in Anne. It was not that he did not have the same trust in his beloved’s judgement, but he’d forgotten how much she was loved by people other than him. He smiled softly and nodded in agreement.

Josephine Barry’s manse was far more magnificent than anything Gilbert had imagined, and it explained fairly well Cole’s refined mannerisms, as well as his more-than-fine clothes. Rollings awaited at the door, and with a sign from Cole, he was off to draw him a bath, as promised. They entered the parlour and Josephine Barry rose from an intricate armchair, where she was reading. The woman looked frail and minuscule next to Cole, but she was barely shorter than him, and she held herself with such poise it was impossible to guess her exact age. She gave him a long, inquisitive look before smiling broadly and opening her arms, drawing him into a hug not unlike the ones Doctor Oak had given him, and so the shock of such a show of affection did not rise as stark as it had the first time, and he was even able to reciprocate it without much delay.

‘Oh, Gilbert, you look like a fine young man. I was certain the moment Anne told me about you that you were nothing but, yet seeing you in the flesh is a welcome confirmation.’

‘Thank you, Miss Barry, and thank you for letting me stay here to surprise Anne.’

‘Josephine, dear. Did you have a good trip? You look tired. Dinner will be served promptly, I’ll tell Rollings to draw you a bath.’

‘No need, Jo, I already told him,’ Cole interjected.

‘Of course you did.’ She turned back to Gilbert. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Cole will show you to your room.’


	6. The First Wish of My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited because next week they'll reunite! I would post the next chapter right after this one, were it not because I would be endangering my ability to keep a schedule. I hope you enjoy Anne's letter. For obvious reasons, we shall have to wait a while for Gilbert's response.

_Dear Gilbert,_

_First and foremost, I wish you can thank Kitt for his most wonderful work: never in my wildest dreams did I expect you to reciprocate my gift, and much less so soon. I would have you know I believe Kitt’s artistic abilities to be just marvellous, as he has captured your annoyingly handsome air with rare precision. I must admit I stared at it for quite a while the first time I saw it, only brought back from my reverie by Diana’s curious voice – I nearly fell off my bed, so high did I jump in surprise; my thoughts a little too brazing, after gazing upon your likeness, to be held in company. I dare say I long so fervently to kiss you until I run out of breath, and then kiss you some more. I want to run my hands through your hair and leave you untidy, blushing, and breathless. Please excuse my frankness, but I honestly want to do such things to you—with you?—and I thought if not something to look forward to, then I should definitely offer you a warning. I hope you’re not alarmed by my attitude, but in turn are eager to give into my pretensions. This confession out of the way, I presume you might like my plan as you’d be tempted to kiss me in after-dark Toronto streets, a risk I’m afraid I’ll have to run, seeing as I neither want to miss the event of electric streetlights nor do I fear the consequences of enjoying them in your presence._

_Maybe I can convince Marilla to let me visit on Easter? I worry she will think it outrageous, but she has grown to be much more understanding with the years, especially after my trips to the mainland during my quest to learn more about my ascendance. If the idea is far too alien for her mind to wrap around it, maybe I could visit at the end of the second semester, and we may enjoy Toronto in the summer, albeit I understand if staying a week or so longer in the mainland is tiring or too expensive, or both. Either way, I am truly planning to visit as I would love to meet your friends but specially Doctor and Mr. Oak. I feel I would’ve made a pretty good doctor myself, Marilla always says I’ve got quite a presence of mind in the midst of chaos, and I did help Minnie May when she came down with a case of croup. Meeting Doctor Oak might give me a glimpse into the sort of life I could’ve led in another lifetime. Please do tell Mr. Oak that I would be beyond grateful if he were to share with me his culinary secrets. I rejoice in the knowledge Mary passed down to me, and I would be elated to have more to share with Delly once she’s grown up – I visited last Sunday, she already seems twice as big as she was the first time I met her; she grows so fast! Bash, Elijah and Mrs. Lacroix send their regards. I’m sure they’ll write you the same soon enough, but Mrs. Lacroix says you should watch your meals, and Bash says not to skip on sleep. I agree with them._

_As much as I miss you and it’d be far easier for me to take it all out on you for the situation we find ourselves in, I’d rather miss you than not even have the possibility of a future together looming in the horizon. I love you, Gilbert, alarmingly so. I believe the opportunity to love at all provides so much more possibility than the resignation to let love die and move on. As much as I tried to convince myself that unrequited love was the most romantical thing there is, I would rather endure the hardships of love in the hopes of seeing it true than sail the romantical sorrow of unrequited love. I am forever thankful to Winifred who told me you weren’t getting married. I think it quite restored my timid heart to its inherent impetuous nature, ready to initiate the quest for you once again. It does not suit me to hide my emotions, and it makes so much more sense to know my feelings had gone unheard of rather than being shunned into silence. I’ll never tire of admitting I’m quite hopefully—why do people say hopelessly when being in love is such a hopeful state of being?—and quite irrevocably in love with you, for better or for worse, long-distance relationship included. We’ll be seeing each other soon enough; you can do penitence for your poor timing by making up for lost time and loving me when we are reunited for Thanksgiving._

_My heart, however, is heavy with worry for Ka’kwet, and for the reality I refuse to reconcile with but cannot deny. It just does not make sense at all for me to turn our backs to someone just because they live differently than we do, or speak a different language, or have a different skin tone. We’re still human, we all have beating hearts and families and love. Why act so heartlessly against people that look superficially different when God made us all the same? I do not understand what kind of Bible people read they seem to think torturing children and taking them from their families and their home is something that can be done in His name. It hurts so bad, and I feel ever so impotent, frustrated, and beaten. I’ve shed a no small number of angry tears on the matter—in the privacy of my room—whenever I am once again asked to write something for the school paper and I’m not allowed to write about the Mi’kmaq. I would go rogue again, I definitely would, were it not for Miss Stacy’s voice in the back of my mind telling me that for new ideas to take hold they must be carefully planned and flawlessly executed. I am scared I might do more harm than good exposing Ka’kwet’s situation, seeing as people are quick to judge and so obstinate once the prejudice has taken hold. I keep writing to papers, however, hoping that one of them will eventually have to publish one of my letters, if not for conviction, in order to put an end to the flood of correspondence I’ll be sending their way._

_I am consoled that at least I am surrounded by the best of friends. I’ve already gotten a letter from Miss Stacy, with whom I plan to discuss Ka’kwet’s issue at length, and Aunt Jo and Cole often invite me over for dinner or tea or a quick lunch. Diana is ever so faithful as my bosom friend, and the endless list of beaus that have strived to win her favour have bestowed upon her the most entertaining stories about courtship. I will soon be invaded by the rest of my friends, as we usually hold council in Diana and I’s room—much like our lunch gatherings at school—and I’m afraid I’ll be outvoted into reading my letter aloud if I’m caught in the process of writing it._

_Yours this upcoming Thanksgiving,_

_Anne_


	7. Into a Flutter of Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the day off at work so, to celebrate, here's a new chapter. Also: it's the reunion! Hope you like it.

Charlottetown hadn’t changed at all, Gilbert thought as he made his way up to Blackmore house, his heart beating faster with each step he took towards the building. Granted, he’d only been away for a little over a month, but it was still refreshing to know he was yet well acquainted with the town and its streets and shops. He could not help but to be taken back to his frantic pursuit of the house the first time he headed himself in its direction, hopeful but doubtful about Anne’s feelings. He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, but he wanted the surprise to be palpable in Anne’s expression, and for that effect he’d planned to arrive at two thirty sharp, so she could feel Cole’s absence but would not spend too much time chaperoning in the parlour.

. . .

Anne was disappointed that Saturday morning when she got word at breakfast that Cole had business to attend to and would not be able to accompany her that afternoon. She told herself that, at least, next Saturday she’d be at Green Gables, Gilbert by her side in front of the fire. She studied diligently until lunch, when she was dragged out of the room by Diana, who seemed adamantly set on her not missing lunch, even though she felt she could’ve studied all the while until visiting hours. She relented, though, and ate the delicious sandwiches Lily had set before them, thanking her with a gesture she’d learnt from her, one of the many times Cole and she had asked Lily to teach them. She went up to her room to grab the essentials for that afternoon: they were only two hours, but when she was alone, Anne had learnt they dragged on like days. She grabbed one of her many favourite books—sometimes she felt all books were her favourite—, _Pride and Prejudice_ , a gift from Diana, and she discreetly set Gilbert’s portrait amidst its pages so she could glance at it quietly while sitting in the parlour.

She took her favoured seat, the window rest, and she alternated between Gilbert’s portrait and the vivid colours outside, imagining him walking through the leaves to visit her, in another reality, or maybe someday. She glanced over her shoulder curiously a couple times. Ruby and Moody took turns between him kissing her hands and her kissing his cheek, an act Anne thought quite daring for Ruby, feeling proud of her. She saw Diana talking to some uninteresting lad who was sure to be let go in the next minute or so. Josie was with the same massive man who’d been visiting for a couple weeks now, Daniel, who had an expression so soft he reminded her of Matthew. Jane, as usual, was nowhere to be found, and Tillie was shamelessly engaging in a kiss with Paul 1, and Anne grinned, happy for her friend, as she turned to the window once more, to keep picturing Gilbert out there.

In between blinks, Gilbert appeared at the gate, as if her imagination had conjured him, so real he looked with his cheeks and nose red from the cold, and a decided yet slightly anxious air about him. She rubbed her eyes, fearing she’d gone mad, but there he was, striding past her window, straight towards the main entrance, not noticing her sitting in front of him. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, and Anne thought maybe she’d wished so fervently to see him in the flesh, she’d begun seeing things, and the thought alarmed her profusely, as her vivid imagination had provided her an escape before, but she did not wish to entertain a fantasy that would mean so much loneliness once she returned to reality. She shook her head, glanced lovingly at her portrait of Gilbert, and opened her book determinedly, resolute she had spent enough time making up Gilbert’s presence about her. Just then, there was a noise, and the sound of footsteps and, as she glanced up, she was forced to pinch herself to make sure she was not imagining it.

. . .

The file of men coming out of Blackmore house took Gilbert by surprise. He’d thought Anne was exaggerating when she said there were men lining up every Saturday waiting for Diana; indeed, she was not averse to hyperboles. However, the queue in front of him was very much real, men fidgeting in the cold, and he hoped none of them were waiting on Anne. She was an awful attractive woman, that was for sure and certain, and it would not surprise him in the least if unawares, Anne had entertained the fancy of a man or two. He swallowed the thought the second after it was formed, reminding himself he did not want to be like Mary Ann’s Liam, and so he approached the door sure-footed, receiving some side glances from the men queueing, some of them smiling smugly, presumably thinking he’d get to the housekeeper only to wait in line like the lot of them. When Gilbert got to the door and knocked, a couple seconds elapsed before a young and sprite housekeeper whom, from the descriptions in Anne’s first letter, he assumed was Lily. She nodded politely and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Gilbert, aware the woman was deaf but could read lips, did not hesitate to announce his purpose.

‘I’m here to see Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.’ His felt his heart pounding in his ears as he said her name, so close he was to seeing his sweetheart again. For a moment, Lily seemed confused, but she perked right up and let him in, to some annoyed looks from the men waiting outside. He welcomed the warmth of the house as he walked in, let Lily take his coat and hat, and then followed her into the parlour. He felt Anne’s eyes on him the second she came into view, and suddenly there was only her, and he hurriedly closed the distance between them, bringing her into a searing and longing kiss, lifting her off the ground in his arms and spinning around in the most joyous expression of sincere affection. He heard a small bell tinker, and he turned briefly to see Lily frowning and making a gesture he was sure was a warning for them to keep their distance, and so he looked back at Anne, who was as red as he probably was, but they smiled blissfully and she took his hands in hers as they sat where she’d been sitting, a sensible meter left in between them. With shaky breath, they heard the giggling and gasping that went around the room, but they were in a world of their own. Anne was squeezing his hands with such intensity he feared she might break them, but his hands were still cold from the walk outside, and her hands were soft and warm, making her grip more than welcome. They stared at each other for what felt, to the other people in the parlour—all suddenly uninterested in their own courtships and fully invested in the scene unfolding before them—, an eternity, and giving his hands another squeeze, Anne talked first.

‘I can’t believe you’re here! I keep thinking I’m imagining you, but I’ve pinched myself again and again and you’re still here.’ Gilbert chuckled. ‘How are you here? Don’t you have classes still? Shouldn’t you be in Toronto? Did you drop out? Did something happen?’ Gilbert brought her hands to his lips and kissed them reassuringly.

‘Everything is peaches and cream, Anne. I just had the opportunity to take some extra days off for Thanksgiving and came to surprise you. Are you surprised?’

‘I most definitely am, oh, Gilbert, this is positively serendipitous.’ He sighed with the ecstasy of hearing her use of extravagant words again, and he wished for nothing more than to hug her, but knew Lily would not agree to it.

‘Say, Anne, are you free right now? I have a note from Miss Josephine, which I’m certain will force Lily’s hand into letting you out for a couple hours. Is that something you’d be interested in?’ Anne shot up like a jack-in-a-box.

‘You’ve met aunt Jo? Oh, that’s just excellent!’ She proclaimed with excitement. ‘Sure, just let me grab my coat.’

‘Ladies,’ Gilbert greeted Anne’s friends in the parlour with a nod, as they made their way out, and he did not see but could hear a new wave of giggles take hold of the parlour.

Although she was reluctant to let Anne out with Gilbert after such a display of public affection, Lily was well acquainted with Miss Josephine Barry’s notes, and she knew she was to fully trust her with Anne’s wellbeing and integrity, as per request from Mrs. Blackmore, after some private correspondence between them. So, hats and coats on, Anne and Gilbert were let out of Blackmore house under the curious eyes of Diana’s suitors.

‘I still can’t believe there’s so many of them,’ Gilbert said, once they were out of earshot.

‘I believe the number is dwindling and, by the end of October, she’ll have worn them out. There’s only so many suitors in Charlottetown, although I’ve heard some of them hail even from Halifax or further away, Diana’s parents have contacted many a family. I suppose a couple or so will continue to try and win her affections, Lord knows some of them have come more than one weekend, but the rest will get tired and move on. I guess that’s what Diana’s hoping for, too.’ Gilbert nodded, tightening his hold on her hand, incredibly happy to having her prattling beside him.

‘Did you all get a flock of suitors that dwindled with time, or was it only Diana who got the pleasure?’ Anne chuckled.

‘Would you believe you’re the first suitor to come calling on me, Mr. Blythe? The nerve of men to pretend I’m not a thing of beauty.’ Gilbert laughed at her words, putting a loose lock of hair behind her ear, becoming enraptured in her blue eyes, so many times he’d dreamed of them.

‘Their loss is my gain, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.’ Anne gave him a playful smile he’d never seen before, and he suddenly jerked forward as Anne pulled his arm and dragged him into a back alley, barely transited. Anne scarcely gave him time to take in his surroundings and raise an eyebrow, confused, before she put her hands around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Gilbert didn’t react for a second, startled, but as soon as he processed what was going on, he returned the kiss, tender for a second, then slowly building up, Anne experimentally probing his bottom lip, him whimpering in a barely audible volume against her mouth. She continued her exploration, Gilbert letting her, surprised and eager, when she tapped gently her tongue against his lip, and he let her in, his blood boiling, not quite knowing what to do with himself, where to put his hands—he’d settled for her waist—, what to think. His usually very active brain was blank and bubbly as she kissed him.

She’d dreamed of this so many times, but the real thing was oh so much better than she could’ve ever possibly imagined. She’d placed her hands around his neck, initially, to pull him into the kiss, but they soon began creeping up, entangling her fingers into his hair. She curled some of his locks around her fingers, then let her hands go down, tracing his back, bigger and broader than her own, feeling him shiver slightly under her touch whenever she tried anything new in their kiss. She felt her cheeks blush, her heart beating so fast, like when she’d first taken Belle into a gallop, but now she truly did think it would burst off her chest. She broke the kiss, breathless, her brain spinning with all she’d discovered in it, the way Gilbert reacted to her, a thousand new ideas of what she wanted to do to him, heart and mind racing.

‘That was…’ Gilbert began.

‘Spectacular, wouldn’t you say?’ She whispered, her forehead locking with his, their noses rubbing together.

‘Where did you learn to kiss like that?’ He said, slightly shaky from the racy interaction. She blushed a little, but she shrugged.

‘I have a very active imagination, is all.’

‘I have always felt your imagination was incredibly appealing, but this is something other entirely,’ he confessed.

‘I did warn you I was going to kiss you until you I ran out of breath and I left you with hair dishevelled, blushing and breathless.’ She said, clearly proud of her work.

‘You did?’

‘My last letter,’ she said, for all explanation. Gilbert seemed suddenly downcast.

‘It must have arrived after I left.’ Anne blushed furiously, suddenly the contents of her letter far too honest for her to handle them. Distance did make it easier to say outrageous things, knowing she wouldn’t be there to endure the reaction. It did not go unnoticed to him the flush that crept up her face, and he held her face gently with his right hand, making her look at him.

‘So you warned me, eh? What else did you plan to do to me?’ He said, kissing her lips sweetly and briefly, chuckling softly. ‘I might be tempted to let you,’ he whispered before kissing her, their passion reignited, Anne taking his hands in hers, pulling him closer, then letting them rest on her waist as she set herself to try something else. She placed a tentative kiss on his jaw, and felt him smile, then another on his neck, and she heard his shaky breath inhale abruptly, surprised, but his hands held her tightly, keeping her close. She breathed in his scent, placing kisses down his neck, stopping at the base, careful not to untidy his shirt too much, seeing as they would have to leave that alley sooner than later. She stopped and resigned herself to bury her face in the curve of his neck, hugging him tightly, solemnly listening to the beat of his heart, fast as hers. He held her, thankful to be with her like that in that alley, trying to keep his thoughts from visibly embarrassing him. Her lips on his throbbing throat had been a feeling so divine he could have never anticipated it in his mind, and they led him towards the darker thoughts in his mind. ‘I liked that,’ he admitted, in a loving whisper.

‘I might do that again sometime,’ she replied, grinning against his coat. She pulled back, sharing her grin with him, and he kissed her forehead tenderly.

‘Let’s go, Miss Josephine is waiting for us.’

‘She’ll be rejoiced it took us longer than it should’ve.’ She winked, and Gilbert chortled as she took his hand in hers and led them back into the open street.

. . .

Having given into their long-held desires, their hearts felt content and beat calmly in a swift waltz as they sat next to each other at Josephine Barry’s table.

‘This is excellent, Miss Josephine.’ Gilbert said as they ate together. He couldn’t ignore the fact that Cole kept giving Anne teasing glances, and he felt like blushing a thousand times throughout the meal.

‘Rollings chose today’s menu, reminded me our Anne loves a good pie.’ Rollings seemed bothered to have his attentions revealed, but none at the table cared.

‘Thank you, Aunt Jo.’

‘It was about time I met you,’ Josephine said, looking at Gilbert. ‘I needed to get acquainted with Anne’s beau if I am to aid and abet her romantical follies as well as her other ones.’ Gilbert raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and Anne shrugged innocently.

‘You did encourage me to seek all possible adventures in life,’ Anne conceded.

‘Love is the most momentous adventure there is, alright.’ The eyes of the two women darted hurriedly towards Cole, who sat there eating happily. Anne dared not say a word, all too aware that Gilbert had not been trusted with the nature of Cole’s affections, but Josephine was not one to not speak her mind. ‘You should’ve been in Paris seeking love adventures of your own, not sitting here with an old woman and her guests, painting portrait after portrait of our dear Anne. I love her so but, now we have her here in Charlottetown, it is a rather eerie thing to see her face everywhere I look in the art room.’

‘Sounds like a delightful room,’ Gilbert observed, earning himself a glare from Anne, who clearly did not think his cheek endearing.

‘A man who knows about art,’ Cole agreed, and Josephine rolled her eyes.

‘Paris, Cole? Do you still intend to go someday?’ Gilbert asked, and Cole nodded.

‘There was some issue with the mail, some paperwork did not make it in time, but I’m all good and set for next year.’ Josephine sighed with maternal exasperation.

‘The boy here thinks I am not aware he tramped the communication on purpose, so he could stay with me another year, afraid I’ll kick the bucket whilst he’s overseas.’ A dead soundlessness overtook the dinner table, Gilbert feeling suddenly the odd one amongst them.

‘That is not—˝ Cole tried.

‘Tell me, Cole, if I don’t die this year will you postpone your studies another year? Will you miss on the very best years of your life? On your youth?’ Cole did not answer. ‘I have been loved well by many and by you all the many years of my life. That love shall not abandon me even if you’re not present at the time of my passing. That being said, I do not think I should cease to be anytime soon. Lord knows Rollings has been praying for my early departure for several years now and I’ve no mind to give him the pleasure to bury me.’ Rollings chuckled quietly from his post, clearly amused. Cole nodded, not knowing whether to feel worry or shame, and choosing to take Josephine’s hand over the table instead.

‘I was planning to leave the next year either way, Jo. It would break my heart if you passed, were I here or not. I just wanted to enjoy your company a little longer before going out into the world to make you proud.’ Josephine smiled softly.

‘You’re a terrible liar, my dear, but I do appreciate the sentiment.’ She took a deep breath and then turned to her guests. ‘Anne, Gilbert, I believe I’m quite worn out, my already established old age the cause of my every pain and tiredness. Please excuse us, Cole will walk me to my room.’ Anne and Gilbert both looked at her quizzically, so she continued. ‘I believe Rollings has made a mistake and sent the carriage on an errand that should take it until a little before midnight,’ she looked at them intently. ‘We already sent word over to Mrs. Blackmore. I have given Rollings strict instructions to chaperone you closely, but he has a terrible habit of disobeying me, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he simply let you be.’ By the way she looked at them, they got the sense that she would be quite vexed if they didn’t take the opportunity to enjoy each other as much as they could. Cole looked back at them and made kissing gestures, leaving them both blushing furiously, fretting a little at finding themselves alone with so much permissiveness granted to them.

‘Would you like to see the presents I brought you?’ Gilbert said, suddenly remembering he had brought her a little something, and thinking it the best way to interrupt the uneasy atmosphere about them. His question did just the trick.

‘You brought me presents?’ Anne exclaimed, and Gilbert took her hand, guiding her upstairs, towards his room. ‘Oh, you cannot understand the state of excitement presents bestow upon me,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, and Gilbert had to bite his lip not to laugh. For all the time they had spent denying their feelings, he knew her so well, and he felt so stupid at ever doubting his love towards her. ‘Of course, the best present is having you here with me like this… but presents! It is such a thrilling experience to receive presents, I have come to realise.’

‘Now, it’s not much, so I don’t want you getting your expectations up, or I will certainly fail to meet them, your imagination is too strong an opponent for me.’ Having reached the door that had been assigned to him on the upper floor, he turned the pome of the door and let them inside, letting go of Anne’s hand to open his trunk, finding a small package and the envelope Kitt had so guardedly handed him to give to Anne. ‘The first one is mine, it’s nothing costly, in fact it did not cost me anything, but I figured you’d like it.’ He handed her an almost flat package, just some folded silk paper which seemed mysteriously empty. Anne unfolded it gently, suspense building up in her stomach, until suddenly the paper gave way to the most beautiful iridescent feather appearing before her. She’d seen them before in books, but no book she’d read had been able to capture the vividness of its foiled colours. ‘There’s this very big manse a couple minutes from campus and they have peacocks outside, don’t know what for, but once I found one of their feathers while I walked past it and I thought you’d like it since you collect those sorts—’ Anne did not let him finish, setting the feather carefully aside and pulling him again into a vehement kiss, his chest rising with emotion as he recognised the recently reacquainted sensation of Anne’s lips on his. He dropped Kitt’s letter to the floor to run his hands through Anne’s hair, undoing her up-do without much care for her having to return to Blackmore house eventually. Anne’s eyes shone feverishly when they parted.

‘Would you mind it terribly if I led us to your bed?’ Anne asked, feeling her legs trembling with the intensity of her feelings. She saw Gilbert blinking slowly, swallowing difficultly, and she suddenly realised how her words could’ve been interpreted. She went fully red, which Gilbert thought adorable, once he’d realised what she’d actually meant, but she cleared her throat to explain anyway. ‘I meant, to seat, and kiss. Just that. Maybe repeat what I did at the alley? Nothing too brazen, I promise.’ Gilbert chuckled and guided her to sit on his bed.

‘What did you do in the alley? I have trouble remembering,’ he teased, to ease her sudden rigidness. She looked at him, flirtatiously, and Gilbert had the abrupt idea maybe he was playing with fire. Sure enough, flames leapt at him as Anne kissed him, no tender preamble like before, just thirsty lips teasing his bottom lip, leaving him at a loss once again, thoughts racing at seeing Anne behave like in his fantasies, taking charge of them, of him. He let her do as she pleased, which was as he pleased, an involuntary groan escaping him as she set herself to kiss his neck again, this time taking his hands and placing them on her breasts. He felt his brain melt, but he obliged, tracing them clumsily but gently over the fabric of her blouse, and the sigh that escaped her lips only urged him on.

‘Anne, I don’t think you want to do this, your reputation would suffer if people found out,’ he warned with his last functioning brain cell. His hands were still on her breasts, but they had stopped moving. She separated herself from him enough to look him in the eye.

‘I know more than you think I do. This is just touching, there’s nothing wrong in my eyes about it. I think decorum is quite a ridiculous notion. I’ve never felt a more sublime thing than the way your skin shivers when I touch you.’ She exemplified by tracing what was visible of his clavicle with her index, goosebumps sprouting there where she’d touched him. ‘I’ve never felt anything more glorious than your hands on me. Unless you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop, I don’t see why we should define us by dated and prudish notions of propriety.’ She looked down for a second, aware he might think her immodest. ‘If you think me sinful, I’ll understand.’ He removed his hands from her chest, taking one of her hands in one of his, and using the other to lift her chin, and looked straight into the blue of her eyes. His hazel eyes were true, desire and love swimming in them.

‘I was just making sure we’re not doing anything you don’t want to do, or anything with implications you’re not aware of. I didn’t know you were so… enlightened on this matter. I am more than eager to indulge in your pretensions, Anne. I don’t think there’s anything more splendorous than the sight of you taking the lead, commanding me gently. I am spellbound by you.’ She smirked with renewed confidence, and brought his hands back to her bosoms, as she set herself to explore his clavicle, opening his shirt a little more, to grant herself better access. Gilbert groaned, squeezing gently Anne’s breasts, then dedicating himself to draw circles over the fabric on their peaks, and Anne once again sighed in pleasure. Gilbert could not rein in the impulse to rescue his lips from idleness, and he set to kiss Anne’s neck, his thumbs still circling the cloth over her nipples, the sensation sweet but muffled by her corset. She unbuttoned the back of her blouse to give him free reign over her cleavage, and his heart stopped at the sight of her pale and freckled skin, bound by the lacy undergarments.

‘Anne,’ he whispered against her skin, but she just buried her fingers in his hair, guiding him towards the expanse of her clavicle, and he did as requested of him, kissing her exposed skin, feeling her chest rise and fall erratically under his mouth. She set her hands to trace his back, up and down his spine, giving him pleasant shivers.

‘Gilbert,’ she whispered, and he looked up, seeing her head back and cheeks flushed, and he thought, indeed, there was nothing more glorious than this moment between them. She guided him against her lips once again, and she covered herself slowly. ‘I love you,’ she murmured, as she collected herself, steadying her breath. It was the first time she told him so, face to face, the words ringing in his ears like a hymn.

‘I love you, too.’ He said, and she felt her breath stop with happiness. They stood holding each other’s hands, heads resting on top of one another for a spell.

‘So, what do you exactly know, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?’ Anne giggled.

‘Well, let’s just say the meetings with the feminist group at Queen’s have proven most instructive.’

‘I understand now why people say suffragettes are a menace to civil society,’ he jested. ‘Evil women, just setting me up for hardship,’ he looked down, his cheeks still red, and Anne chuckled.

‘One day it might be worth your troubles, Mr. Blythe,’ she said, giving him a reassuring squeeze on his knee. ‘Now, what was my other present?’ Gilbert rolled his eyes.

‘Now you’re just trying to humiliate me.’ Anne gave him the most innocent expression she could muster, and he put his hands in his pockets before standing up, trying to conceal as best as he could the situation he was in. He grabbed Kitt’s envelope, aware one hand would not be enough to hide himself but, to his relief, Anne’s attention had flitted instantaneously to the envelope on his hand. ‘This is from Kitt,’ he said as he handed it to her. ‘He made a fuss of me not opening it before giving it to you. I have no idea what kind of silly things he’s written you.’ Anne tore the envelope carefully, a quick note appearing before her.

> _Dear Ms. Shirley-Cuthbert,_
> 
> _You do not know me, but thanks to Gilbert’s incessant rants about you, and Mr. Mackenzie’s most exquisite art piece, I feel like I do know you. Please accept these gifts on my part. I am aware Gilbert has already sent you a sketch I made of him, but I believe these will prove much more valuable. Do not let him see them, as he’ll be tempted to take them from you, this much I know about him._
> 
> _I hope to make your acquaintance soon, I believe we’d be good friends._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Rudy Kitt_

Anne looked at Gilbert carefully, making sure he wasn’t trying to take a peek, and she unfolded one of the two pieces of paper enclosed. She gasped, and had to move the paper out of Gilbert’s reach as he lunged for it the moment he heard her reaction.

‘Keep your hands to yourself, Gilbert.’ She permitted herself to look back at the paper when he rolled his eyes, resignedly. The sketch was not so rushed in this rendition, capturing just fine the tenderness of Gilbert’s peaceful openness as he dreamt away, sprawled over some open books. She could almost see his eyelids fluttering as sleep took over him, and she smiled sweetly before she could feel Gilbert’s face close to hers, looking from above her, taking advantage that she was distracted by the drawing to peer at it. ‘It’s mine!’ She exclaimed, hugging it to her chest as she scooted away from him, and she saw him frown, offended.

‘I promise to return it to you.’ He assured her, though she still seemed hesitant, so he pleaded. ‘Please?’ Anne nodded, quickly joining the second paper, still inside the envelope, with the note in her hand, and handed him the drawing. He did not know there was more than one sketch, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He shook his head as he saw himself collapsed exhaustedly over his textbooks.

‘I can’t believe he drew me like this. I’ll have to be wary of him from now on.’ He sighed, acquiescent. ‘It’s a tad embarrassing, but I guess you like it.’ Anne’s eyes glittered in confirmation.

‘I love it.’ He gave it back, and she patted the empty spot next to her for him to sit. She kissed his cheek for his good behaviour, smiling. He took his hand in hers and looked, with a grin in his face, at the mess he’d made of her hair.

‘I wonder what Mrs. Blackmore will say when you arrive past curfew, and with your hair looking like this.’ Anne chuckled.

‘I can braid it, tell her I didn’t want to miss on my sleep, and rested what I could before the carriage got back.’ Gilbert frowned, impressed.

‘You seem awful deft at fibbing, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.’

‘Being the bride of adventure requires a certain amount of fibbing, and I _was_ lavished with a most fruitful imagination, Mr. Blythe.’ He smiled, and she was suddenly taken aback by the way his eyes seemed to overflow with love for her. She was transported to the first time she’d noticed so, while they were dancing at school. He tugged gently at a loose strand of her hair. He seemed to be reminiscing a memory of his own, because he whispered:

‘Carrots.’ She raised her eyebrow.

‘Are you looking to get hit by another slate, Gilbert?’ He grinned mischievously.

‘I just might.’ She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t mind. ‘Actually, I was wondering, could I braid your hair for you?’

‘You know how to braid?’

‘I don’t, maybe you can teach me?’ She giggled, positively enamoured with the man in front of her.

‘Ok, watch as I do it, I’ll do it slowly, so pay attention.’ He nodded. She turned her back towards him and began taking the pins off her hair, letting it fall loose, then proceeded to expertly braid it, so many times she’d done so it came like second nature to her.

‘I think I got it,’ he declared once she was done.

‘Ok, I’ll undo it.’ He stopped her hands, setting them over her lap.

‘Allow me.’

. . .

When she got home, Lily looked at her curiously, noticing her slightly loose braid but, if she had any judgement, she did not share it. Mrs. Blackmore reminded Anne that even though she was allowed to even stay at Miss Josephine’s should the need arise, she should be more careful to avoid eventualities like the problem with the carriage. Anne nodded like she profusely understood, even though her mind was back with Gilbert in his room at Aunt Josephine’s. She’d gotten quite good at it; she’d had years of practice not minding what Mrs. Lynde said.

Up in her room, Diana was reading in her bed, her bedside lamp rebelliously on even though Mrs. Blackmore was adamant every Sunday dinner that they should not waste oil when the rules said lights out at ten. Anne suspected all the girls stayed up later, either with the lights on or off, studying or talking or fretting about this and that. Diana glanced up in her direction and just scooted over in her bed, their friendship too large to need words at times. Anne sat next to her, producing the peacock feather Gilbert had gifted her, and Diana contemplated it appreciatively.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she observed, and handed it over to her friend before definitely setting her book aside. ‘Now, you know I want to hear more than just the fact he gave you a peacock feather, however sensitive a gift it is.’ Anne grinned, handing her the sketch of Gilbert asleep after a long study session.

‘Kitt, Gilbert’s roommate, sent it to me.’ She grinned as Diana giggled over Gilbert’s picture.

‘He sleeps so peacefully.’

‘He does,’ Anne agreed. Diana looked at her, clearly waiting for a detailed account of whatever transpired during their afternoon together. ‘I pulled him into a back alley,’ Anne confessed. ‘I kissed him until I ran out of breath.’ Diana grinned, excited by the nerve of her friend. ‘Then we headed towards Aunt Josephine’s. We talked and told stories, and then we had dinner and, after that, Aunt Jo made it clear she was going to make herself scarce, and took Cole with her.’ Anne looked at her bosom friend with complicity, and she stood proud to announce it: ‘I now can agree that having your beau touch your breasts over your blouse is quite exhilarating indeed.’ Diana stifled a cry of surprise, knowing they’d be in trouble if Mrs. Blackmore realised they were still awake.

‘Anne!’ She said for all reaction, clearly surprised at the brazenness of her friend, or perhaps just mildly scandalised at the pride in her voice.

‘It was marvellous, Diana, and that’s not even the best part. He told me he loved me, for the first time aloud. I heard him say it, to me, in the flesh. It was most magical, Diana. Love has always seemed a curious word to me: to encompass an emotion so vast as the poets speak it in but four letters. But when he said it, why, Diana, it seemed the most perfect, most definite, most adequate word there is to learn how he feels about me.’ Diana rolled her eyes with infinite tenderness for her friend.

‘I bet it was.’ She took Anne’s hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. ‘I’m truly happy for you, Anne.’ She looked in the direction of the door, and back to her friend. ‘I do think we’ve tempted fate long enough. It’ll be best if we go to bed, we don’t want to risk Mrs. Blackmore’s wrath.’ Anne nodded, placing a sweet kiss on her friend’s cheek before jumping off the bed.

‘Good night, Diana.’

‘Good night, Anne.’ Diana went right to sleep, but Anne had yet to change into her nightgown, and she did so by moonlight, the night clear for the first time in the entire week. Diana’s soft snoring—which she found endearing: it sounded to her like the purring of a cat—let her know she was as alone as she could be in their room. So she unfolded Kitt’s second drawing. Her breath got caught in her throat. Gilbert stood shirtless, drying his dripping hair with a towel, clearly getting ready for the day. _I have to thank that man, I must find a way to pay Kitt back for this incredible gift_ , she thought before collapsing onto her bed, too tired from all the emotions of the day to do or think anything else.

. . .

Gilbert headed home that Sunday, after church, lest Bash and Hazel were to box his ears if they knew he’d stayed more than a day in Charlottetown before heading home. The service had been impossibly long, but Anne had been by his side, their fingers playing together whenever people weren’t looking. Their tiny finger battle had evolved to soft shoving by the time they reached the train station in Charlottetown, and Anne kissed him sweetly before giving the last push as he got on the train, grinning victoriously as she waved the train off. Gilbert shook his head in disbelief at her move, although he should’ve anticipated it, knowing how competitive she was. They’d be seeing each other again that Friday, and they would be having Thanksgiving dinner together like they’d been doing every important holiday since Gilbert had come back to Avonlea with Bash. She still had a couple midterms before being able to go back to Green Gables, so she gathered her wits about her and went back to Queen’s to study.

Anne had been studying like a madwoman ever since she’d decided to prove professor Thomas wrong, a frenzy that was only ever interrupted by a few jokes and remarks that flew back and forth between her and Roy. Gilbert’s surprise visit had left her in a state of absolute obliviousness, and she completely forgot about the conversation she’d held last time with Diana about Roy. So, there she was, nose deep in a book, taking notes, Roy watching her do so in the seat in front of her. Something good had happened over the weekend, he could tell, but he was afraid to ask: what if Cole had made a move on her? He suspected she’d tell him sooner or later, and he’d rather delay the news in case they were bad. Right then, however, no one could take away from him the view of Anne intensely pouring over textbooks. The first thing he’d seen, when he gazed upon her for the first time, was her red hair. It haunted him ever since, even then, pinned up in front of him. He barely studied at all, he simply contented himself with looking at her, focused on the task at hand. At last, when she ceremoniously closed the last book she had to review, he jumped off his seat to follow her out of the library.

‘You really take your studies seriously,’ Roy commented, once they could raise their voice above whisper level. Anne seemed confused.

‘Why wouldn’t I? I’m in the one-year programme to get the teaching license, I should not be sitting idly, I should be making the most of it, don’t you think?’ At her reaction, he realised his words had come off wrong, and he hurried to correct himself.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wondering whether you’re in such a hurry so you can continue your studies further.’ Anne looked at him quizzically, again.

‘Continue my studies?’

‘Well, Redmond College is only a ferry ride away and you could get a bachelor’s degree.’ Anne suddenly understood what he meant.

‘Oh, I… well, certainly, continuing my studies would be lovely, but my family hasn’t the money, Roy. We’re not poor, I dare say Matthew does quite well for himself, but it’s still a farm. We only make so much a year, paying a four-year major is not something we can afford.’

‘What about the Avery scholarship? It’s only one prize a year, but you always study so much… I’m sure you’d get it, no problem.’

‘Avery scholarship?’ It was Roy’s turn to be surprised at her words.

‘You don’t know about it? Once a year, the best student is rewarded with a scholarship to attend Redmond College, 250 dollars a year.’ Anne felt herself suddenly bursting with possibility.

‘Oh, Roy, what wonderful news! You’ve given me hope, thank you, thank you!’ She hugged him tightly, unaware of the way his breath stifled and his eyes dilated as she did so. She took a step back, too thrilled to pay him any mind. ‘I have to get home and tell this news to Diana; I’ll see you soon!’ She said, and she sprinted back to Blackmore house, not caring how many times Mrs. Blackmore had told them proper ladies didn’t run, not seeing the way Roy’s eyes followed her until she disappeared from view.

. . .

The first thing Gilbert noticed upon getting off the train was how much Delly had grown. He could not believe how quickly she’d shot up; she was about to complete her transition from baby into toddler. Maybe he should specialise in paediatrics? He made his way directly to his niece, enveloping her into a blur of kisses and raspberries on her cheeks, under a slightly hurt look from Sebastian; his theatrical air had not left him in the short time Gilbert had been away from home. The second thing Gilbert noticed, once he’d been able to put Delly down, was that Miss Stacy was standing by Sebastian at the station. He raised an eyebrow at Bash, but he waved him off. Gilbert, then, did the polite thing, and hugged Muriel first.

‘Hi, Miss Stacy, sorry for not greeting you first, I just got distracted by Delly, I’m sure you understand.’ She beamed at him, in clear agreement.

‘She’s just exquisite, isn’t she?’ She put a warm hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s so good to see you Gilbert, and so soon at that! I thought you weren’t coming back until Christmas.’

‘Oh, yes, I thought so myself, but U of T was, thankfully, all too understanding about me wanting to visit my family for Thanksgiving.’ She nodded. ‘Doctor Oak sends her regards, by the way, Mr. Oak as well.’ Muriel was glad to hear about her friends.

‘Doctor Oak? I’m sure Emily would have your head if she heard you call her so. Edward would, too.’ Gilbert chuckled.

‘Yes, Emily and Edward have warned me against it, but it is a habit rather difficult to get rid of.’ He finally turned to his brother, and wrapped him in a tight hug, disregarding the weird looks people in the station offered them. ‘I missed you, Bash.’

‘Yes, yes, I bet that’s why you delayed your arrival two days and even attended the service in Charlottetown, because you missed us.’ Gilbert rolled his eyes, as they walked towards the cart.

‘You know that’s not fair. I’ll be staying with you the entire week. I only get to see Anne for a couple of days.’ It did not surprise him Muriel did not react at his mention of Anne. Small as Avonlea was, chances were the entire town knew he was courting her by now. He helped Muriel onto the cart under a teasing look from Bash, look he returned, nodding in Muriel’s direction without her noticing, and it became Bash’s turn to roll his eyes. He handed Delly to her, before getting on himself, and asking for his niece back. They rode to the clackety clack of the cart and Gilbert’s voice asking Delly to say ‘uncle Gilbert’.

It always surprised him how much his state had changed since Bash and Mary had gotten the farm up and running. The orchard still held some green trees, probably the last to give some late apples, and the small garden Mary had grown seemed to be thriving under her son’s care. Elijah could be seen working the land the second his house came into view, and he waved warmly at them when they passed him by. Finally, they got off the cart and into the warmth of the house, where Hazel received Gilbert with a warm smile that still had some ways to being completely genuine, but Gilbert knew the woman was working to change her habit of distrusting him, and he appreciated the attempt alone.

‘Welcome back, Mr.—’ she cut herself off when she saw Gilbert make a face, and tried again. ‘Gilbert. We missed you.’

‘It’s lovely to see you, Hazel. How have things been since I left?’ Bash took Delly to her crib, and Muriel took a seat by the big table in the kitchen, across from Gilbert.

‘Well, Miss Breeze here built me a smoker, so I can’t complain.’ Gilbert peered curiously at Muriel when hearing the nickname Hazel had given her, but Muriel did not engage.

‘It was no problem, Mrs. Lacroix.’ Gilbert could tell there was unresolved business between the women, much like there had been some weeks before between Hazel and Bash. Once again, he took the diplomatic decision to save himself some trouble and not interfere, and instead decided to take Delly off her crib, and marvel at the event of her crawling all around, as he moved possibly dangerous objects out of her reach.


	8. Divided Between Distress and Diversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I had a bit of a writer's block this week, which made me so glad I strive to stay a couple chapters ahead of the ones posted, so I can post any other way. I just got Jane Eyre in the mail, so I'm hoping it'll provide me with inspiration to keep myself on schedule. I hope you enjoy!

The last day of midterms was over and Anne was ecstatic to be going back home. However, no more midterms meant her friends would be gathering in her room that night, and she could feel in her bones the advent of the inquisition as she knew, after such display of public affection, they would not let her off the hook. She’d been surprised, really, when they had not tried to gorge the truth out of her the very next day, but instead focused themselves on studying for their tests. They were students, after all, so she appreciated the time off to study. She’d done especially well in English Literature, she could tell, and she hoped that would shut Professor Thomas right up and would allow her to finally attend the Creative Writing class. If not, well, she’d tried her best, and she’d continue trying.

During dinner, every one of them picked their napkin with their left hand, and Anne confirmed her suspicions that it would be a sold-out event. Still, they had a dinner to get through, and Mrs. Blackmore had clearly prepared herself to share her mind with them before they had to leave for Thanksgiving.

‘It has been a delightful couple of weeks in your company, ladies. Do remember you are still very much boarders of this home, even if you go back to your respective hometowns, and you have a name and status to uphold. I trust you will remain faultless and dedicated young women and students. Do send my regards to your respective families, and please mind the curfew on your return. Happy early Thanksgiving to all of you.’ They all nodded politely and replied in unison.

‘Happy early Thanksgiving to you, too, Mrs. Blackmore and Miss Lily.’

Stolen biscuits and pastries on napkins and handkerchiefs covered Diana and Anne’s bedroom floor, and Diana had the suspicion Miss Lily knew of their gatherings, because she never wondered where some of the napkins went after dinner, or why they appeared the following morning at the laundry room as if nothing had happened. The women all sat in a circle, happy and a tad exhausted now midterms were over, but at least they would have a couple days of blessed respire.

‘So, Anne, tell us, is Gilbert a good kisser? He looks like he would be.’ Anne blushed slightly at the question, but smiled proudly and mischievously all the same.

‘Why, Ruby, he is as much of a good kisser as you thought he would be.’ The girls all squealed loudly, and Mrs. Blackmore’s voice could be heard from the floor below.

‘Twenty minutes till lights-out, ladies!’ They all quieted themselves.

‘Definitely, Mrs. Blackmore!’ Replied Josie, as they knew she was Mrs. Blackmore’s favourite, and her promise would refrain her from climbing the stairs to make sure they were in bed.

‘How many times have you kissed?’ Anne looked pensive for a moment, counting on her fingers, making her friends’ eyes widen more and more every finger she added.

‘I think I’ve lost count!’ She said, embarrassed, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘More than ten times, that much I’m sure.’ Ruby seemed scandalised.

‘Are you sure you’re not pregnant?’ All the women rolled their eyes, amused at their friend’s reaction.

‘Have you forgotten it all already, Ruby? Kissing alone is not enough to get pregnant.’ Jane reminded her.

‘But it’s still very thrilling,’ Tillie added. They all giggled, Tillie was not one to shy away at their company whenever Paul was with them, they had seen them kiss more times they’d cared to witness. Still, none of their kisses had been quite as bashful and passionate as the one they’d seen Anne and Gilbert share in the parlour.

‘Do you plan to do more things with Gilbert, Anne?’ Diana asked, a teasing smile and knowing look on her face. Anne thought she would make her friend pay for this.

‘Well, I won’t complain if he decides to touch a little.’ She confessed, covering her face to hide the redness that took over it.

. . .

Gilbert was helping Bash out in the cold, his muscles making a silent complaint, sadly confirming how quickly muscle mass was lost when left to idleness—or solely academic work, which was not very different. The moment Elijah got lost in the orchard, Gilbert turned to his brother.

‘You purposely withdrew vital information from me,’ he accused him, concisely and accurately. Bash raised an eyebrow, clearly more amused than worried.

‘You’ll have to be more specific, Blythe, there are many things one keeps for personal entertainment.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe something along the lines of the less than important fact that _I talk in my sleep_?’ His voice did not raise, but his tone let Bash know he was more than irked he hadn’t told him anything about it.

‘It was a good thing to know the machinations of your mind when you’re not trying to pass as a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow. Honestly, had I not heard your midnight mumblings I might have found you obnoxious and would not have talked to you much.’ Gilbert made a face, feigning offence.

‘So you knew! The fact that you do not want to acknowledge how much you love my singing does not make it okay for you to hear me talk in my sleep and not tell me I do so.’

‘It was mostly “Anne” and “carrots”,’ he said dismissively, and Gilbert reddened. ‘Although sometimes it was a bit sad, and I did not want you to feel like I was prying into what sounded most definitely personal.’ Gilbert immediately knew what he was referring to. He’d dreamt of his dad for quite a while after he’d passed. They weren’t nightmares, but they weren’t always good and happy dreams. Even when they were, the remnants of the life they’d shared saddened him when he woke to remember it was a life behind him. Still, the audacity of not telling him.

‘Oh, but listening to my dreams that involved Anne was not personal.’

‘I said it then and I’ll say it again: she didn’t smack you hard enough. You were so gone for her, she was the only person from Avonlea you mentioned by name and in full detail during the entire time we spent together in that ship. I can’t believe it took you so long to realise it.’

‘Either way, my roommate is now privy to the contents of my subconscious thanks to you giving me no word of warning on the matter.’ Bash laughed.

‘And he let you know? He must be a very entertaining fellow.’

‘Yeah, Kitt’s entertaining, alright, but do not think that lets you off the hook. I shall have my revenge. How about you tell me why Miss Stacy accompanied you to pick me up at Bright River?’ Bash rolled his eyes.

‘Muriel just wanted to see you.’

‘Oh, so it’s “Muriel” now.’ Bash knew he’d messed up.

‘Look, you know I let women know they’ve caught my eye, unlike some fellows I know.’ Gilbert sighed, tired of the same tease, plus, since he _had_ let Anne know how he felt, it had grown rather worn. ‘But Muriel would be put in danger by being anything more than a friend to me. You know it, and I know it. One thing is our brotherhood, our bond. Another thing entirely is a black man chasing a white lady. I’ve had my fair share of fights with my mother about it already but, in the end, I had to admit she’s right. We’d be putting a target on all our backs, so no, there’s nothing going on and there won’t be nothing going on between us.’ Gilbert was stunned into silence by Bash’s commentary. He’d forgotten for a sweet second the reality of the world they lived in. The reality Anne complained so often about in her addresses to him, how people did not care for Ka’kwet. To the world outside his friends from Avonlea, Indians were savages and blacks were beasts. He nodded understandingly and decided to take the grim edge off their conversation.

‘So, what you’re saying is there could’ve been something, in another life.’ Bash chuckled, his laugh melodic and crystalline like Gilbert remembered it.

‘In another life, yes.’

. . .

The six girls walked together towards the station, in a procession of trunks and beaus, Cole coming along with them, as he’d decided it’d be best to use Thanksgiving as an excuse to visit his family instead of just showing up unannounced to have the dreaded talk he’d been thinking about. He’d be staying at Diana’s until Thanksgiving, and he walked arm in arm with her and Anne. Moody followed Ruby devotedly, struggling with—but not even thinking of complaining about—her heavy trunk. Paul had made it a point to show off by carrying Tillie’s and Jane’s luggage, and although, internally, he regretted it immensely, he did not let it show in any way. He flexed his muscles and Tillie giggled while Jane rolled her eyes, thankful to at least not having to carry her own luggage. At the rear of the troupe walked Josie and Daniel, Daniel keeping a respectful distance, not complaining nor imposing himself when Josie told him she could carry her own luggage. His gentle brown eyes were permanently engaged on Josie’s face.

‘I don’t see why you had to escort me to the train station, it’s not like I haven’t been here before, I won’t get lost,’ she observed, and he smiled.

‘I just wanted to see you one last time before Thanksgiving, otherwise I would not see you at all this weekend, and I’ll miss you.’

‘Well, _I_ shall be relieved of your incessant pestering and imposed company.’ His face went suddenly serious, a tint of worry in his expression.

‘I didn’t think I was imposing, Miss Pye. I did consult you beforehand, but if you truly not want me here anymore, I won’t force you to my company anymore.’ Josie sighed, mildly annoyed.

‘I accepted out of politeness, and I won’t make you go back now you’re already here.’ He could tell she had trouble admitting she actually enjoyed his friendship, but it troubled him she could not say it freely.

‘Alright, but do know you get to send me away whenever I become inconvenient to you.’ She rolled her eyes, but she held her trunk to him.

‘Then be convenient. Carry this for me.’ He obliged happily, hopeful one day she might actually say what she meant. A happy squeal turned all of their attentions to the platform, where Anne was already giving Gilbert a kiss, albeit much a more restrained and prudent one than the one they’d witnessed at the parlour a couple days before.

‘I thought I’d see you in the afternoon!’ Gilbert smiled proudly.

‘I asked Marilla whether it would be okay for me to escort you on the train. She and Matthew almost got me in the train themselves.’ Anne reddened, that did sound like them, fretting too much about ruining her relationship with Gilbert to be too mindful of propriety. Plus, they adored him, she could tell from the way Marilla got worked up every holiday about dinner, and the way Matthew had lent Gilbert cufflinks without a single explanation needed. On top of that, they trusted him: she doubted she could’ve ever gone to Halifax to look for information about her family if Gilbert hadn’t agreed to escort her on the train ride to Charlottetown. She suddenly remembered how rude she’d been the first time she rode the train with him as a chaperone. ‘She did remind me that there are enough chaperones about us, known and unknown.’ He pulled her out of her memories with his words, as he took her trunk from where she’d forgotten it on the ground and greeted Diana and Cole, who smiled proudly at what they considered to be, in part, the fruit of their friendly efforts.

‘Diana,’ Gilbert greeted her warily, aware that, during their last talk, Diana had reprimanded him severely—although with good reason—yet somehow at the same time fixed all of his shortcomings and misunderstandings regarding Anne. He was not sure how she’d act towards him this time.

‘Gilbert, it’s so good to finally say hello to you,’ she said, clearly referring to his short-lived appearance at Blackmore house a few days prior. He shrugged, knowing she could’ve done worse.

‘My apologies, you could see I was, well, mighty distracted.’ Diana acknowledged it with a teasing smile.

‘Yes, I could tell.’ Gilbert then turned to Cole, who shook his hand amicably.

‘I’m surprised it took you this long to get back to Charlottetown,’ he jested.

‘Well, I was held back by my adorable niece and her father and grandmother, who both happen to be very good at pointing their fingers at any indication of having any other motive to visit than to see my family.’

‘Bash hasn’t let it go, huh?’ Anne observed.

‘I thought Bash was relentless, but it turns out the more comfortable Hazel is around me, the more she feels entitled to share her mind with me, and it is not a forgiving mind, I’ve found.’ Anne giggled.

‘Well, you certainly don’t care much about forgiveness, since you’re here. Now stop trying to act like a ‘gentleman’ and let me carry my luggage onto the train.’ He held it out of her reach.

‘I’m _not_ being a gentleman; I’m only trying to show off. Bash says med school has made me as weak as an infant. If I relate how I was still able to relieve you of your trunk, he might cede.’ Anne rolled her eyes and put her arm around his and dragged him onto the train.

‘Alright, alright. Here, for your troubles,’ she said, handing him a copper piece, mockingly. He took it and placed her luggage on the overhead compartment.

‘This only covers the postcard I sent you a couple weeks ago. You still have to tip me for my service.’ She smiled suggestively.

‘I have no money left. I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you in other ways.’

‘We are still here, you know.’ Cole called out from behind them, before they could sit and he, apparently regretfully, took a seat in front of them, Diana next to him. Diana, on the other hand, did not seem bothered, but rather amused.

‘I am much entertained, do not mind me.’ Cole shot her a disbelieving look that seemed to scream “ _heterosexuals_ ”.

‘I _do_ mind.’

‘It was only innocent, you know?’ Anne explained, a soft shade of pink covering her cheeks.

‘Sure, Anne.’

The ride to Bright River was over very quickly, what with all the conversation and teasing that went and came from various seats. Some passengers shot them curious or mildly vexed looks, but the excitement Thanksgiving provided made them oblivious to anyone but themselves. When they got off the train, many different people awaited at the station. Anne could see the Pyes, Eliza Barry and Minnie May, Moody’s mother, Ruby’s father, Mrs. Andrews, and Tillie’s older brother. She was filled with sudden disappointment at Matthew’s or Jerry’s absence, she was sure they’d be there to pick her up, but their faces were nowhere to be seen.

‘They were fighting over who would come fetch you when I went to ask whether I could escort you on the train ride.’ Gilbert explained as he got off the train and stood by her side. ‘It was decided it would be best they all saw you at the same time when I dropped you off.’ Anne looked at him, relieved.

‘Then how are we to get back?’

‘Why, on the cart I came here on in the first place.’ He pointed to his cart, his bronze horse grazing peacefully. Anne took her luggage off his hands and placed it effortlessly on the back of the cart, and hopped on with little care for her clothes or posture. Gilbert just admired her spirit while he climbed up, then took the reins and set them on their way.

The road soon cleared into fields and nature, and Anne welcomed happily the clean air, the smell of dirt and grass that it carried, her nose reddening at its chill temperature. She rested her head on Gilbert’s shoulder, and he took one of her hands in his.

‘I didn’t think I’d miss Avonlea this much,’ she said, heart content at their peaceful state.

‘It has an interesting charm,’ he agreed.

‘That it must have, otherwise I doubt I would’ve ever seen you again after you upped and left to explore the world.’

‘Once I realised what my vocation was, it made little sense to not come back and complete my education.’

‘Do you ever miss it? Travelling? Meeting new people, seeing new places?’

‘I do, sometimes. I figure once I become a doctor I can keep travelling, though. Maybe I could convince you to come with me?’ Anne nodded against his shoulder.

‘We could go to New York; you could show me around.’ He chuckled.

‘Why New York, specifically?’

‘I don’t know, for some reason I had the idea—’ she suddenly remembered her conversation with Roy. ‘Ah! It’s because Royal Gardner, a friend of mine I sometimes study with, told me his family has a flat in New York and said I could go visit sometime.’ Gilbert raised his eyebrow, suspicious of Royal’s generous hospitality.

‘That’s funny, you’ve never mentioned him before.’ Her expression turned to effortful thought, clearly scanning what she could remember of her correspondence.

‘It must’ve slipped my mind,’ she concluded after a few seconds. ‘Anyway, I thought maybe someday I could take his offer and we could go together.’ At her comment, Gilbert decided Anne clearly had not given this fellow Royal a second thought, and so he mentally reprimanded himself for doubting her.

‘I suppose if it’s not too much trouble for him, we could take him at his word.’ Anne grinned.

‘That would be wonderful, Gilbert.’ In response, he kissed her crown, and realised once again how lucky he was to be loved by Anne.

. . .

‘Anne, you’re back!’ Jerry exclaimed when he saw the cart approaching, and ran to open the fence, stretching his arms wide to receive Anne, who just jumped off the cart, no concern for her dress or the distance to the ground, completely trusting Jerry to catch her. He was as strong as she remembered him, and she hugged him tight before letting go, Gilbert walking up to her, her luggage in hand.

‘I cannot believe it myself, but I sort of missed your singing on the ride home, Jerry.’ Jerry smiled proudly.

‘I _am_ a great singer.’ He turned to Gilbert. ‘You arrived just in time, Marilla made sandwiches. She would not stop worrying about how she shouldn’t have sent you unchaperoned, and how you’d be alone on the way home and what Mrs. Lynde would say if she saw you riding together unsupervised.’ Anne rolled her eyes, and Gilbert shifted, a little embarrassed. ‘Matthew told her they had raised you well and there was nothing to worry about.’ The mention of Matthew’s belief in them calmed them, and Jerry added: ‘If they only knew the amount of trouble you’ve gotten into that they know nothing about,’ he laughed, ‘but I decided it was best not to tell them… for now.’

‘There it is,’ Anne said, brushing him with her shoulder as she began to walk in the direction of Green Gables, the cart forgotten a bit too early, but Jerry could accommodate it. ‘The reason why I’ve found you annoying all these years.’ He simply smiled at her, happy to have her back, as he jumped on the cart and drove it around. Marilla was already stepping outside the house, arms open to welcome her daughter, and Anne ran into them, her emotions easing into a swift calm as she felt the familiar smell of Marilla, the soap and the shampoo, and the cleaning products, the flour, the fire, the wood, and the smoke. She clung to her for as long as she felt necessary to have her smell rub on her, like a purring cat, and when she let go, she saw Matthew walking up to them. She hugged Matthew for so long her ribs and her arms hurt, but she never wanted to part from his dirt, sweat, and _farm_ smell again. Or so she thought while in their embrace, until she heard Gilbert talking to Marilla.

‘…okay, there weren’t many people on the road, either, we left before most people at the station, although I’m sure the Barrys will be back home any moment now.’ She turned to look at her beau, picking up her trunk again to bring it upstairs, Marilla welcoming him into their home like it was the most natural thing to do. She entered with Matthew after them, and she saw him disappear up the stairs as Marilla handed her some plates to place on the dinner table.

. . .

‘Anne, would you take these to Rachel’s?’ Marilla said, placing a basket of cream puffs in her hands. ‘Thomas has been a bit under the weather and I want to make sure she’s not worrying much about trivial things such as baking, but only taking good care of him.’ Gilbert, who was grabbing his coat to get back home, could not help but overhear the conversation.

‘Is Mr. Lynde not feeling well? Maybe I should pay him a visit.’ They hadn’t noticed they’d set themselves up to walk together to the Lyndes, so they blushed when Marilla spoke.

‘And have the two of you walking unchaperoned over to Rachel’s? Fiddlesticks. I would never hear the end of it.’ She saw their pints of slight disappointment and sighed, feigning to be annoyed but feeling actually quite amused. ‘I suppose, however, if I sent Anne and then you showed up to check on Thomas and happened to run into Anne over there, why, Rachel could not help but admit it a coincidence.’ They grinned complicitly, and Gilbert nodded before stepping out.

‘Thank you, Ms. Cuthbert. I’ll make sure to pay Mr. Lynde a visit during the afternoon, then.’ Gilbert said, while Anne was already hugging the air out of her lungs, dissolving into multiple words of thanks, tugging at her dress like a little child.

‘You should call me Marilla.’ She managed to say to him as he left, having to raise her voice a little to compete with Anne’s exuberant gratitude.

. . .

It was a grim scene over at the Lyndes’ house. The covered skies did nothing to revert the bleak prospect that loomed on Thomas’s horizon. Gilbert arrived to find Rachel already serving the cream puffs Anne had brought, Mr. Lynde in a wheelchair by the fire. Anne had opened the door to him, her expression far from the complicit excitement he’d been expecting. She took his hat and coat and led him into the parlour. Mrs. Lynde was fretting around her husband, accommodating the blanket on his legs.

‘Mrs. Lynde,’ Gilbert greeted her. ‘I heard Mr. Lynde was feeling a little under the weather and came to see if there was any way I could help.’ Rachel looked up to him, her eyes grateful but her face tired, it was clear she was not used to having to tend to her husband as if he were an infant. She was far too old to be taking care of someone who’d become entirely dependent on her.

‘Why, Gilbert, thank you. The doctor’s already been over, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you take a look, now would it?’ The worry faded from her face to give place to curiosity. ‘How is Toronto? How have your studies been?’ She set aside the pastries, and turned her husband’s wheelchair, so Gilbert could inspect him more comfortably.

‘Hello, Mr. Lynde. How have you been?’ He turned to Rachel. ‘Toronto is a tad colder than Avonlea, if such a thing is possible, or maybe it’s just the distance. I believe I’m doing well at school, if I may say so myself. I’ve been told second year is when it gets truly tough, so I’m bracing myself.’

‘My, my, my, boy it seems as if though you’ve grown yet again!’ Thomas said. ‘Or maybe it’s just this new perspective of mine,’ he chuckled. ‘I cannot complain, lest Rachel will have my head.’

‘I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay, Gilbert. Yes, it would be excellent to soon be able to say Avonlea sprouted a doctor.’ She took a seat beside Anne, out of the way. ‘Now, we won’t interfere, please go on.’

‘There’s a chance it’s both, Mr. Lynde.’ He knelt before him, so their eyes were more level. ‘How come you find yourself in a wheelchair, Mr. Lynde?’

‘It’s my feet, I’ve developed these wounds… the town doctor calls them ulcers? I think. Anyway, we think it’s from the cold and the walking, he suggested I stayed indoors and by the fire.’

‘May I?’

‘Sure, although I don’t know if our dear Anne here would want or endure seeing the wounded feet of an old man.’ Gilbert gave Anne a side glance, a smirk in his lips.

‘I’m sure she’ll be alright. I believe our dear Anne has seen worse than the wounded feet of an old man.’ Anne giggled from her seat, earning herself an inquisitive look from Rachel, and she shifted in her seat trying to look as confident as possible, in an effort to hold her ground against Rachel’s prying. However, all funny business subsided once Thomas’s shoes and socks were off. It was nothing like Anne had ever seen. His right foot was turning black on the toes, and it looked as if it was eating itself, the skin folding in itself revealing muscle, tendons and even a bit of bone. His left foot was not as far gone, but a couple holes were beginning to form, threatening to dissolve the tissue just as bad as the right one. It was grotesque in a way Anne could only compare to Frankenstein’s wretch. Gilbert tried to hide his shock. He’d seen diabetic feet ulcers before, at Doctor Ward’s office, but nothing as drastic as what was in front of him. ‘Oh, Mr. Lynde, how long has this been going on?’

‘A couple of months… it was not always this bad-looking. It’s making my wife fall out of love with me.’

‘Oh, you,’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You know I never could.’ Gilbert and Anne lowered their eyes at the same time, the scene too bittersweet to handle.

‘Well, we should at least clean the wounds.’ Gilbert turned to Anne. ‘Could you bring some boiled water from the kitchen?’ She nodded and he saw her off, before turning to Rachel. ‘Did the doctor not indicate him to have the wounds dressed and the bandages changed every couple of days?’

‘Oh, he did, but Thomas complains so much about it.’ _And it won’t change the outcome_ , her eyes seemed to say. Gilbert sighed, resignedly.

‘Please pay attention, Mrs. Lynde, so you can clean his wounds once I have to go back to Toronto.’ He looked at Rachel commandingly until she nodded. Anne then came in, carrying a bowl full of steaming water.

‘May I help?’ She asked, already kneeling beside Gilbert, bowl resting carefully on her lap.

‘Yeah, that would be great, thanks.’ He gave her a sweet smile, and Anne reciprocated it.

. . .

They left the house in silence, not without a funny look from Rachel, who was far too grateful to pester them at the moment. They both exhaled heavily once they were out of sight of the Lynde’s residence, as if they’d been carrying the weight of the situation uninterruptedly since they’d set foot in the house.

‘Is he going to recover?’ Anne dared to ask after a while talking in silence. Gilbert just limited to shake his head, gravely, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. ‘What does he have? Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Lynde?’

‘Diabetes. The sugar levels in his blood must be in the ceiling.’ He watched as Anne nodded understandingly. It was no secret Thomas Lynde had quite the sweet tooth. ‘Mrs. Lynde knows. I would dare say they both know, the way Mr. Lynde joked was very telling. She didn’t say anything, but the way she acted when I saw his wounds, and the look she gave me when I asked about the recommended treatment… she knows it has no cure. The doctor must have come late, because at this stage – even if Mr. Lynde stopped eating anything and everything sweet and by some miracle his sugar levels stabilised, he’ll never walk again, Anne.’ He felt Anne’s arms wrap around him as the familiar sinking feeling of impotence made home in their hearts once again. Utter powerlessness was not something either of them liked to feel.

‘I’m so sorry you keep running into dead ends, Gilbert.’

‘It’s just so frustrating, why can’t I do anything to save anyone around me.’

‘Maybe being a doctor is giving people the time and care they need, rather than always having a solution. Or maybe you should focus your practice on patients with more possibilities before them.’ She broke the hug to look lovingly into his eyes. ‘Seeing more of your patients heal than succumb to illness might give you the strength needed for when there’s nothing you can do.’

‘It’s funny… whenever I feel hopeless about the career I want to pursue, you’re there to reassure me.’ He squeezed her hands, appreciating the way the cold flushed her cheeks and nose. Her blue eyes and her freckles, her comforting smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘I just want to beat you fair and square.’ She grinned friskily. ‘It would not do to win because you forfeited.’ She was comforted to hear Gilbert chuckle.

‘We’re in different schools, how do you intend to keep this competition up?’ He furrowed his brows, unable to understand her level of competitiveness.

‘Well,’ she locked her arm with his, setting them once again on their way. ‘I plan to win the Avery scholarship this year at Queen’s. Two hundred and fifty dollars a year to study at Redmond College. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, bachelor of arts… has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’

‘Anne, that’s amazing! Of course you’ll win that scholarship. Kingsport, huh? You’ll be travelling the world before I know it.’

‘The good thing is Kingsport is in the mainland, so post service should be more expedite to and from there.’ She grinned. ‘You’ll have to work harder to keep up with me, though.’

‘Oh, you really think so, don’t you?’ He grinned mischievously. ‘Alright, how about hyperglycaemia, let’s see if you can spell it.’ She saw Anne look at him with surprise, but she immediately turned to a haughty expression.

‘H-Y-P-E-R-G-L-Y-C…’ she paused, solely for dramatic effect. ‘A-E-M-I-A.’ Gilbert clicked his tongue in defeat.

‘How did you even know that?’ He felt his heart flutter when she blushed, as he’d caught her in something that—at least she thought—was embarrassing.

‘Sometimes, when I’m tired, I peruse the books in the small medicine section at the library in Queen’s. I find it motivating to think you’re reading stuff like that and makes me want to do better. I also think it’d be great if I knew enough about the field for you to be able to talk about your work with me, when you need to. It’s a bit silly, I know…’ She looked at him, worried he might think her foolish or childish, but instead he said:

‘I love how smart you are, Anne.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘You always surprise me.’ She smiled proudly.

‘Well, one of us has to keep things interesting, haven’t I?’ He simply rolled his eyes and chuckled at her cheek.

. . .

‘Anne isn’t here,’ Jerry informed when he saw Diana’s face appear in the entrance of the stable. Diana had the decency to blush.

‘I’m not looking for Anne,’ she announced.

‘Oh,’ Jerry put his pitchfork aside before stepping closer, a nervous edge to him forever engraved in his interactions with Diana. ‘I’m very busy, so it’d be best if you talked quickly.’

‘Yes,’ Diana nodded. ‘I came to apologise. I was rude to you before I figured out what my future was going to be like. You were right, I was always going to go to Paris. Using it as an excuse was hurtful and dishonest, and I’m so sorry, Jerry.’

‘I just wish you had been straight with me from the beginning. Leading me on when you didn’t think I was good enough was cruel.’ His face showed no animosity but a dash of guardedness, which was more than understandable.

‘I’ve never thought you’re not good enough, I was truthful when I said it before, as I am now. It was mean of me to lead you on when I was confused and I kept making you believe I liked you when I didn’t. In my confusion, I made it seem it was our differences which kept me from you, which couldn’t be further from reality. To me, you embodied a world aside from my own, one with none of the rules and expectations that made me feel trapped at home.’ His shoulders relaxed a little and so, she continued. ‘I’m sorry I assigned you signifiers that have nothing to do with what you want to or should be to me or anyone.’ Jerry’s stern expression softened, and so she thought it prudent to add: ‘Plus… you _are_ a good kisser.’ Her words had the desired effect: Jerry smirked amusedly.

‘Alright.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I forgive you. Just don’t go giving false hope to other lads. And no more kisses for you, missy. You snooze you lose.’

‘Oh,’ Diana lifted an eyebrow curiously. ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’

‘Her name is Brielle. Lives right over in Carmody.’ At that, Diana smiled warmly.

‘I hope you two will be perfectly happy together.’

‘I hope you can find whatever it is you’re looking for, someday.’ He was being nothing but sincere, yet Diana felt the words sting, because she knew she had yet to find out what it was that she wanted, and she felt lonely again, like she did whenever she witnessed Anne reading one of Gilbert’s letters. She was ever so happy for her friend, but at the same time the alienating feeling of not knowing what that joy felt like was too intense to be ignored.


	9. Was Soon Out of Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten this chapter more times than I care to admit, and I did not fully proofread it in fear I might find something else that required some "tweaking", so please excuse any typos, I'll fix them in time as I reread. Hope you like this still!

A soft knock on her door startled her as she was falling asleep. She was surprised to see Jerry’s face cross the frame when she allowed it.

‘Anne, I uh…’ his cheeks flushed at what he was about to ask, seeing as they were no longer children.

‘Can’t sleep by yourself yet, can you?’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve both grown quite a bit, so it won’t be the most comfortable thing, but here, just make sure to leave early, lest Marilla finds you and gets the wrong idea.’ She lifted the sheets so he could shimmy beside her, and she handed him a pillow.

‘You’re like a sister to me, I’d never…’

‘I know, but it’s still improper.’ She chuckled. ‘How have you been sleeping these weeks, then?’

‘Terribly. Some nights I sleep in the barn, just to have Belle and Butterscotch keep me company.’ Anne tittered at his confession, then locked her eyes on the ceiling to not let them betray her.

‘Have you been well, otherwise?’ She did not mention Diana, but Jerry could tell what she was truly worried about, even if she looked away in an attempt not to be so transparent.

‘Yeah. I’ve been well.’ He pondered whether it was safe to tell her, but his desire to assure her of his wellbeing overrode his desire for privacy. ‘I’m actually seeing someone. Her name is Brielle. She’s a seamstress assistant in Carmody. She’s funny and stronger than she looks, and her parents like me.’ Anne saw his eyes shine when he spoke of his sweetheart. She must be a wonderful person.

‘What? Oh, Jerry, I’m so relieved and so happy for you.’

‘Yeah, don’t go telling Marilla and Matthew, though. I don’t want them worrying about me marrying and leaving the farm, because I won’t.’ Anne couldn’t help but nod reassuringly with a grateful grin. She hadn’t even thought about the implications of Jerry finding someone. It warmed her heart to know Jerry kept her parents’ needs so present in his mind.

‘Good night, Jerry.’

‘Good night, Anne.’

. . .

Gilbert was finishing breakfast when Muriel let herself into his home. They were supposed to leave for the service right after breakfast. Even so, he was surprised to see Muriel walk in with total confidence, but he noted Hazel was not fazed in the least.

‘Gilbert,’ she said, apparently surprised to find him there. ‘Good day.’ He could not tell whether she’d forgotten he was back, or she’d expected him to be out and about.

‘Good day to you, too, Miss Stacy.’ He saw her take off her scarf, hat, and coat and place them familiarly on the perch by the door. ‘I didn’t know we were expecting you today.’

‘Oh, she’s expected any day, of late,’ Hazel commented, earning herself an accusatory look from Muriel.

‘I just came to help Bash fix a handcart.’ She sat across from Gilbert and saw him raise a brow incredulously.

‘Bash is out back,’ he paused trying to read her better. ‘Getting things ready to leave for church.’

‘I see,’ she said, standing up in a jumpy motion, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside. She quickly grabbed her coat, neglecting her accessories. ‘I should go make myself of use.’

‘Good luck with that handcart.’

‘What?’ She said, cheeks still flushed. ‘Oh, that. Yes. Thank you.’ She opened the door and was out before Gilbert could say anything else. Gilbert scratched his nape, suspicious.

‘There’s something going on between them, right?’ He asked Hazel, who was busy cleaning the stove. ‘It’s not just me, is it?’

‘No, there’s something, alright. More than I’d like or would be safe, anyway.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They deny it and deny it, it’s like it’s only them who haven’t realised.’

‘I hope they figure it out, they’d be a cute couple.’ He wondered whether Anne and he were like that, too. Everyone sure of what they had and rolling eyes and placing bets. Maybe he should make a bet? But who with? Hazel would certainly not engage and going with the tale elsewhere would construe gossip.

‘Cute and dangerous,’ Hazel said as if confirming his suspicions on the betting front, but Gilbert paid her no mind. He’d already heard all Bash had to say on the matter, which sounded suspiciously like what Hazel would have to say on the matter. He thought, however, they had to be more trusting in their community, and they had to be braver. What’s in a fearful life but unfulfillment?

. . .

Sunday service was always an interesting affair in Avonlea. That Sunday, the powerless sun provided them no warmth as they got off their carts and into the temple. Their breaths rose up into the air as some paused to greet neighbours and friends. However secluded the life of any of its inhabitants, the service provided both mandatory socialising and a photography of the developments in the lives of each of its members. For instance, the Andrews stood without Prissy among them, and Rachel sat beside Marilla and Matthew, her husband by the fire at home. The Barrys tried to pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary in Diana seating beside them and not studying overseas like they had told everyone for years. Ruby and Moody sat together, their families beside them. Muriel sat by Bash, like it was the most natural thing to do, cradling Delly with unrivalled skill. And yet, in spite of so many developments and so many people to pay attention to, all eyes seemed to be glued to him and Anne, sitting side by side in between their family. He reckoned it would not be Avonlea if they did not follow every single movement of the woman sitting next to him. He himself found it impossible to look away and, so, he heard giggles and murmuring around them, even if they sat properly and their attitude was irreproachable. As much as they wanted to engage in a finger battle, like they had done the previous week in Charlottetown, they knew better than to do so under Rachel’s inescapable eyesight. Her constant preoccupation for her husband did not make her any less talented at sniffing out any funny business. Thus, the only funny business occurring between them during the sermon were side glances and an occasional playful smirk, that faded immediately lest Rachel saw anything.

When the service was over, they all walked outside, and did the polite thing: stand in the breezy outdoors and ignore the cold in order to answer the prying questions of elders and talebearers – sometimes, both; until only them and their families remained. The leaves crunched under their feet and the increasing silence that took over as carts and carriages drove away intensified the sound and feeling.

‘Marilla, Mr. Cuthbert,’ Gilbert said, approaching the Cuthberts and Mrs. Lynde with respectful distance, more for Rachel than anything. ‘I was wondering whether I could walk Anne home?’ At his words, Rachel tittered.

‘Of course, I already knew that you two were courting, but young love is indeed very refreshing to see unfold before one.’ Gilbert smiled politely in response, and Anne shot Marilla and Matthew an urging glance.

‘Well, if Anne has no objections…’ Marilla hurried to say.

‘Of course she doesn’t have any objections,’ Rachel interrupted, rolling her eyes. ‘Now, do know if you do anything worth knowing I _will_ hear about it.’ She said, a warning look in her face as she grabbed Matthew and Marilla and set them on their way.

‘I did not expect her to be supportive and threatening all at once,’ Anne confessed once they were out of earshot.

‘I suppose it’s better than just threatening,’ Gilbert chuckled. They began walking, arm in arm, looking their best selves in their Sunday clothes.

‘Doesn’t church leave you with an ardour for words? So many wonderful and elevated expressions: conspire, Anointed, sceptre… don’t they have the most ambrosial edge to them?’

‘Only you could feel inspired by the minister’s preach.’ He smirked, overtly partial to her passion for words. ‘I think Queen’s has but enhanced the already vast vocabulary you held before you enrolled, and yet you seem still marvelled at the already familiar scripture.’

‘It’s because it uses superb and exquisite words, Gilbert.’ She rolled her eyes, like he was a sinner for not seeing the lexical richness of the Bible.

‘Say, Anne,’ he said, steering the conversation and her interest elsewhere, ‘I’ve been wondering whether to tell you or not… it’s not a secret of mine to share and yet, I feel as though your counsel might just be the thing I need to figure it out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I trust you’ll be discreet – at least afterwards. I’m sure you’ll be beyond excited at the idea right now,’ he chuckled, picturing the face he knew she was going to make just then. ‘See, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Bash and Miss Stacy have been getting closer lately and—’

‘Bash and Miss Stacy?’ Her eyes sparkled with exhilaration and delight. ‘Oh, Gilbert, that’s positively felicitous!’ She seemed trapped in a world of her own, and Gilbert shook his head fondly, biting his bottom lip at the reaction he’d predicted from her. He hoped, in that instant, she’d never change. ‘Miss Stacy a part of our family! I could die of happiness right now!’

‘See, that’s the thing, you cannot die of happiness just yet,’ he explained. ‘Bash says they won’t act on their feelings because… well, because it’s against “common decency” for them to be together.’ He saw Anne struggling to understand and he fell in love all over again with her. Her mind was too broad to even fathom the prejudice that could keep apart two people who loved each other.

‘I don’t – I don’t understand. Is it because they’re both widowed?’ Anne’s expression was troubled, and Gilbert took her hand in his and squeezed it.

‘It’s because people are small-minded. Bash is afraid of what people will say or do if they see a black man courting—or, “God forbid”—marrying a white lady. And it’s silly, but at the same time I remember what a hard time Mary had trying to buy anything at the general store, or get anyone to buy for her, a struggle Hazel puts up with to this day. And what if someone acts on that prejudice – I worry for them.’ For a moment, they fell quiet, Anne’s long, winded sigh the only sound that interrupted the chitters and crackling and creaking of the creatures and the forest.

‘I think we ought to have more faith in the people we love,’ she concluded. ‘Both in Bash and Miss Stacy’s capability to change people’s narrowmindedness, and in our family and friends’ ability to support, aid, and shield them from the world’s menaces.’ She looked him in the eye, serious and optimistic. ‘We have propelled change before and, although they did burn our school, you said it yourself: “the world _is_ moveable”. We can, and thus must, pursue a world in which people can love freely.’

‘How are you never discouraged?’ He smiled, proud of her buoyant spirit. ‘I consider myself pretty positive in my prospects and yet, at times, the world does get a tad too dreary to see the silver lining.’ Anne shrugged in response.

‘I’ve seen and lived the evils and corruptions of people, and I’ve also seen and lived their virtuosity and pureheartedness. I choose not to believe humans are solely one or the other, for my life has not been permanently in either state, and I refuse to accept we have no say or freedom to choose or craft a better life, as long as we have friends to inspire us and spur us on.’

‘You’re a beacon of hope, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.’ The compliment made her blush, so unexpected it felt to her.

‘Thanks?’ She saw him turn to her, the woods a welcome cover from Rachel’s spies.

‘I mean it,’ he kissed her cheek. ‘I feel so blessed to know you.’ She giggled in response.

‘I’m blessed to know _you_ ,’ and as soon as the phrase had left her, Gilbert’s lips found hers, and she drowned in the feeling of his warmth around her. Their fingers interlaced together, and only the rabbits and the woodpeckers were witnesses to their indiscretion.

. . .

Anne had visited the Mackenzie farm twice before: once when they had convinced Cole’s mother to let him chaperone Diana and her to Aunt Jo’s summer soirée, and when they had picked him up in the field to go to Charlottetown to try and save Miss Stacy’s post. None of those times had the bleakness of the household permeated her. This time, however, as she stood on the doorstep, holding Cole’s hand, she began to understand what Cole had run away from. Cole knocked cravenly on the door, his grip tightening around her hand, their skin reddening with the chilliness and the pressure. The fields were orderly, but retained a homogenous brown that extended all around them, harvest had come and gone and the soil was unburdened but lonesome, save for the distant scarecrow that stood like a tower guarding pointlessly.

It all happened in a swift, organic movement, and Anne barely had time to blink, let alone react to the actions taking place. The door swung open carefully, with the loud creak of old wood. She saw Mrs. Mackenzie’s surprised face first, then her inescapable palm reaching out for Cole’s cheek, meeting it with a cold _slap!_ Cole raised his free hand to his face, astonished.

‘Ungrateful child!’ Mrs. Mackenzie spew before letting burning tears escape her eyes. ‘We thought you dead!’ She raised her hand again, and Cole’s gaze cowered to the prospect of getting hit again, but she faltered. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I’m going to study in Paris, mum.’ He confessed. ‘I’ve become an artist.’ He inhaled deeply before continuing. ‘I was hoping I could say goodbye to my siblings. And maybe stay for dinner.’ Her gaze was stern and unforgiving, so he felt the need to add: ‘If you’d like.’ Mrs. Mackenzie went silent for a second, then nodded.

‘And what is she here for? Is she your lover? I hope you don’t plan to drop her off here and leave again. I have raised enough children as is.’ Mrs. Mackenzie looked pointedly at Anne, who felt offended, but did her best to keep her mouth shut. She was there to be a support for Cole, not to make it more difficult for him, although it took everything in her to keep her promise to Cole and not try to defend him.

‘She’s Anne, from school. You remember her. And no, she’s just my friend, and she only came for moral support. She will leave now, she has her own Thanksgiving dinner to attend to.’ Cole said, squeezing Anne’s hand gratefully. Anne was surprised to hear him asking her to leave so soon, but his eyes were reassuring when she met them, so she did not contradict him.

‘I see. Well, thanks for bringing my son home, Anne.’

‘I’m happy to have helped at all, Mrs. Mackenzie.’

. . .

The morning carried a warning of winter, frost covering the grass, the morning dew turned into a rainbow filter on the earth, little diamonds shining under the barely threatening sun. Their laugh reverberated off the wooden walls, spiralling in foggy and ephemeral clouds. A handcart was between them, its wheel mysteriously found broken the day before.

Bash felt her lips on his before he could realise what was going on. He was holding the wheel while she screwed it in place, and he’d looked up and their eyes had met and then… well, then Muriel Stacy was kissing him and although he knew, logically, that they shouldn’t act on their feelings, her kiss felt like a comfort he’d been after for a long, long time. He reciprocated, kissing her back softly, trying to understand the nature of his feelings as her hands held his face.

‘Muriel, you know this isn’t right.’ He warned, the second they parted to collect themselves.

‘Nonsense. We both know all too well how short life is, why deny ourselves?’ Bash did not have the strength to counterargue, and instead took her face in his hands and kissed her. Muriel had never expected anyone to creep into her heart, but Bash was an extraordinary man. He’d gotten a hold of her before she could even think of putting up a wall. They parted when they heard a thud, alarmed at the possibility of it being Hazel. When they saw Gilbert, the relief was far too much to try to feign modesty.

‘I wanted to take the horse, but I guess I’ll walk and just leave you to it.’ Gilbert said, blushing and backing away, not before shooting Bash a diverted look. They began laughing the second Gilbert disappeared.

‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’ Muriel asked.

‘I’ll get an earful later on, but he won’t tattle.’

‘Let us hope so. Otherwise someone managed to escape the reach of my composition on the perils of gossip.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to keep this a secret, though.’

‘I think it’s the wise thing to do for now, or are you ready to put up with my mother and Mrs. Lynde?’

‘You’re right, I’m not ready just yet to put up with Rachel.’ They chuckled, hearts so full they overflowed the love they had been growing for each other.

. . .

‘Do you have to leave right after dinner?’ Anne asked Gilbert, as they walked back to Green Gables. He’d been waiting for her outside the Mackenzie farm, as they’d planned.

‘I’m afraid so,’ he confirmed, then shrugged. ‘At least we get our date in the woods.’

‘I had to bake like a lunatic yesterday so Marilla would let me come with Cole today. She could not understand why I wanted to stay away from the kitchen the one day during this holiday in which we have to cook the most. I’m sure to have lessened her burden immensely, but she was still wary this morning.’

‘I _am_ walking you back home unchaperoned,’ Gilbert pointed out. ‘And it seems as though you conveniently left this part out.’

‘I did accompany Cole to his house, and if I met you on the way to Green Gables, why, Marilla need not know it was anything but a coincidence.’ She saw Gilbert titter heartily.

‘You are a menace, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, using Marilla’s strategies against her.’

‘I simply use my imagination,’ she shrugged. ‘Come, I’ll show you my favourite spot.’ She took his hand and guided them through fields and woods, until they came upon a creek, the surrounding leaves and grass peppered with frost, so cold the forest was. ‘This creek is full of laughter, if you listen closely, and during fall the sunlight that goes through the warm leaves makes it look like it’s pouring gold. Isn’t it splendorous, Gilbert?’ He knew Anne was a lover of nature, and he could not help but bite his lip to stifle a laugh, when he saw her eyes shining with regard as she took in the surrounding landscape. He heard the creek laugh, like Anne said, and its waters did seem to run golden in the autumnal sunlight. Her voice fell to a whisper before adding: ‘It’s almost as if the entire forest were on fire with excitement for the season, trying to keep itself warm against the impending winter.’ She was oblivious to the look of absolute love in Gilbert’s face, nonplussed at her wonder.

‘I love you,’ he confessed, in a whisper as soft as hers. Anne turned around, finding Gilbert’s eyes piercing through hers.

‘I love you, too.’ She whispered back, and she stepped closer, taking his hand in hers, raising her free hand to feel his heartbeat through his coat. She looked into his eyes, and saw love so deep she wondered how could she have ever doubted his feelings for her. Even if he didn’t know, _she_ should’ve known. She closed her lips to his, and hovered for a second, taking time to appreciate the preamble, the thrill of being about to kiss him. He felt her lips, and kissed her gently, like they would perturb the solemnity of the forest otherwise. Much like the woods around them, Anne shone like fire trying to keep the winter at bay. Gilbert, enraptured in that world of flame, confirmed his previous assertion that it had always been, and would always be, her. ‘I love you,’ she iterated with a laugh in his ear, and he hugged her.

 _Oh_ , how he loved her.

. . .

‘Must you really leave after dinner?’ Anne asked again, fumbling over the stove to check nothing was burning. Marilla would not be very forgiving if she messed up the dinner when they were expecting company.

‘The circumstances have not changed since you asked a few hours ago.’ He failed to hold back a chuckle at the childishness of her insistence. ‘I’ve been away from school far longer than I’d originally expected, and I cannot, in good conscience, ask my professors to be more forgiving. They’ve already been far too understanding.’ Gilbert gently placed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘The bright side is I got to see you. I wouldn’t have been able without the extra days.’

‘You’re right, and Christmas is only a few weeks away.’ Their conversation was interrupted by Marilla, who announced:

‘They’re here,’ in time for them to move the pots away from the stove and make their way to the foyer to receive Bash, Delphine, Hazel, and Muriel, who Anne welcomed with a squeal of surprise.

‘Miss Stacy, what a scrumptious surprise to have you over for Thanksgiving dinner!’ She wrapped her teacher in a tight hug, that was immediately reciprocated.

‘Can’t say I’m disappointed to be received to fervently.’ Muriel smiled at her ex-student warmly, too proud and happy to see her. ‘You must tell me how everything’s going regarding your letters to the papers. I’ve written some myself, but maybe we can craft a draft of what you could write if given the opportunity to publish something on the Queen’s Academy’s school paper.’ She handed Anne her coat and hat, and allowed her to walk her to the parlour, followed by a shy but cheery Matthew.

‘Oh! Certainly, and maybe then you could give me your opinion on some of the responses I’ve gotten…’ their voices trailed off, and as Hazel carried a pot to the kitchen, followed by Marilla, only Bash, Gilbert and Delly were left in the foyer. Gilbert raised an eyebrow at Bash, thinking carefully what he should say, if anything.

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Bash said, defensively, before Gilbert could say anything. ‘I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but I wasn’t sure how to handle this… what I said when you arrived is true enough. People will not take this in stride like the rest of things I’ve done. I’m worried.’ He paused, and the smile crept up to his lips before he could help it. ‘But I’m also very happy, Blythe.’

‘Bash,’ Gilbert sighed, too happy for his brother to disguise it. ‘Just… give people more credit, this is Green Gables, these people are our family. I’m sure they’ll support you no matter what.’

‘What about outside Green Gables?’

‘We have the Barrys, the Lyndes, and they will manage to get more people on our side on their turn. Do not doubt, Bash. We have a community that supports us, that supports you.’

. . .

Anne had gotten Matthew to allow her to take Gilbert to the station before Marilla could say anything in support or disagreement. She did her best to avoid Matthew stepping on Marilla’s authority, but every now and then, it helped to know there was always someone on her corner. They attached the cart to Belle and jumped on, Gilbert’s trunk waiting inside Green Gables since earlier that day. The sound of owls and the random rabbit kept them company as they rode in the dark.

‘You should give Marilla a little more credit,’ Gilbert said. ‘I’m sure she trusts us, otherwise she would’ve been much less permissive these days.’

‘I know,’ Anne admitted. ‘I just didn’t want to risk the slightest chance of not being able to say goodbye to you.’

‘You would’ve said goodbye to me either in Green Gables or Bright River,’ he snickered.

‘You know it’s not the same,’ she took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

‘We have a little time,’ he whispered. ‘We could stop the cart for a while, if you’d like.’ For all answer, Belle slowed down her trot until a stop. ‘What do you want to do?’ He looked at Anne, who admired the night sky contemplatively, the stars reflecting in her eyes.

‘Can you see the stars at night in Toronto?’ She asked, letting her head rest on his shoulder, not parting her eyes from the stars.

‘There are no electric streetlights near my residence, so after lights out they are visible, yes.’

‘When you look at them, I want you to know I’m looking at them, too.’ She looked at him. ‘Unless it’s cloudy. I’m afraid I cannot control the weather in Charlottetown to match Toronto’s.’ She tittered, and Gilbert joined her.

‘If you could control the weather, I’m afraid it would be way unfair, so much power concentrated in a single person. You’re already unstoppable, imagine if you had supernatural powers on top of that.’ He took a deep breath, taking in the weight of her head on his shoulder. ‘I’ll be looking at them, too.’ He felt her inhale softly before sitting upright.

‘We should get going, I’d hate for you to miss your train and blame me for missing your classes tomorrow,’ she announced, and Gilbert agreed with a nod. They gave each other sweet pecks on their cheeks as they rode, giggling complicitly. When they arrived at Bright River, Gilbert lingered as long as he could on the platform, holding Anne’s hands and kissing them over her gloves. They shared one hungry, then slow and sad kiss in the shade of the train station as a last goodbye. None of them had imagined how difficult it would be to say goodbye to each other. They had been so hung up on the anticipation of finally seeing themselves, they had neglected to think what would happen when they had to part again. Anne felt her breath shaky but scolded herself into a smile, she did not want Gilbert to have a worrisome trip because of her. Gilbert had to swallow a tear for fear of saddening Anne. He limited himself to replicate her smile. In one glance, they knew their smiles were fake, but kept them all the same, trying to encourage each other to look on the bright side: they loved each other.

‘I’ll be seeing you on Christmas,’ Anne said.

‘Christmas,’ Gilbert repeated, and with one last kiss on her forehead, he jumped on the train. Although it broke their heart a little, they looked at each other as the train left the platform, and they kept their grin up until the other was out of sight. Only then, Anne allowed herself a lonely tear. She felt it deeply, as it carved her cheek. Once it jumped off her jawline, she took a deep breath and let the crisp air renew her spirits. It was only a couple weeks and, she, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, had a scholarship to secure.

. . .

She arrived to find Matthew in front of the fire. He was smoking his pipe and was lost in thought. She sat next to him, not saying a word. It was not often that Anne decided against filling the silence that hung around Matthew, but in that particular occasion she just wanted to feel his calming presence about her. The fire crackled and the sound on its own made the room cosier.

‘Matthew,’ she interjected after a while. ‘How does one go on missing people?’ She looked at him and held his gaze when he set his eyes on her.

‘Well, now, I suppose… people never truly leave us.’ He went quiet for a second. ‘If we’ve loved them and they’ve loved us, I reckon we always carry a piece of them with us.’ He smiled at Anne, and she stood and walked over to give him a tight hug, and a kiss on his right temple.

‘Good night, Matthew. I’ll miss you when I leave tomorrow.’

‘You have a piece of me with you.’

Anne walked upstairs, changed into her nightgown and sighed audibly. Thanksgiving was over. That was when she heard the familiar knock on her door. Jerry, like he’d done the previous nights, settled himself opposite to her in the bed.

‘Jerry?’

‘Yes, Anne?’

‘I’ll miss you when I leave for Charlottetown tomorrow.’

‘Not as much as you must miss Gilbert,’ he joked, making kissing sounds. Anne kicked his shoulder. ‘Ow.’

‘You deserved that.’

‘I’ll miss you, too.’ He grinned, and Anne couldn’t help but feel comforted by the warmth his body irradiated in the chilly autumnal night.

. . .

Anne ran to her first class that morning. She’d gotten on the earliest train to Charlottetown and somehow had still managed to make herself late to professor Thomas’s class. She made it in the room one minute before the class began, feeling victorious when she caught Diana’s eye and sat next to her. She’d done the responsible thing, which was leaving after Thanksgiving dinner, but Anne could not part with Green Gables until the absolutely latest minute. She figured Gilbert would be in Toronto by then, attending his first class, dead tired after an overnight train ride. She hoped it would be worth it.

She did her best to concentrate at full capacity, still aware she had a war waging against professor Thomas. Like lightning, she answered all of his questions, Thanksgiving had done nothing to dilute the intense studying she had submerged herself into before going home. On top of that, she had much to say on the subject of epic poetry, the poems of Camelot and knights some of the favourites in her heart.

At the end of the class, professor Thomas handed them back their midterms. Anne’s was two points from a perfect score, and she felt the frustration build within her chest, unaware professor Thomas never have a perfect score to anyone. She was trying to come up for an argument as to why he should have not discounted those two points when he called her to stay after class.

‘Miss Shirley,’ he said.

‘Yes, professor Thomas?’

‘Your midterm essay was very well crafted. Indeed, I have yet to remember another occasion in which, when prompted with the question of which parallels can be drawn with the Greek gods and the characters of the Odyssey, a student has drawn a comparison with a character other than Odysseus.’ He said every word carefully, as if he was trying his best not to overexcite her. Anne swallowed, thunderstricken. Was she hearing him correctly? ‘To establish a relation between Athena and Penelope based on Penelope’s weaving, why, that was most brilliantly done.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering, if you’re still interested, whether you’d like to attend my Creative Writing class. I must admit I passed judgement too quickly on you, Miss Shirley.’ He seemed like he was having a really hard time getting those words out of his mouth. Anne wanted to say how she’d known he’d come to regret his initial assessment of her academic integrity, but knew better than to try her luck.

‘It would be my pleasure to attend, professor.’ He nodded.

‘Well, then, Miss Shirley, we meet every Thursday at five in the afternoon. Don’t be late.’

. . .

‘You seem in a good mood today,’ Roy commented, while Anne was deep focused on _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. She snickered silently ever now and then, while she fervently took notes and looked at reference books. It would be inappropriate to say aloud, but Shakespeare’s writings, far from superb at times—albeit they were, superb, most of the time—were a bunch of lewd jokes.

‘I _am_ reading a comedy, Roy.’ She observed, and he rolled his eyes.

‘You know what I meant. Did something good happen over Thanksgiving?’ He dreaded the answer, but it was high time he ripped the bandage off.

‘Well, I got to spend a few days with my family,’ she hummed. ‘Oh, and, of course, I got to see Gilbert. I’d missed him so.’ Her eyes were tinged with a slight sadness and the sudden change was not lost on Roy.

‘Gilbert?’ He asked a little louder he’d intended to, earning himself a disapproving look from the librarian.

‘My beau. Gilbert Blythe. Have I not mentioned him before?’ She asked, confused, raising her eyes from her book for the first time in the conversation to look at Roy. Anne did not notice the way his face grew a few shades paler, but did see him shake his head, dumbfounded. ‘He’s a medicine student at U of T, we were classmates and friends in Avonlea, we tied for first place at the Queen’s Academy entrance exams, his family’s like my own family…’ she listed things in utter disbelief at having never mentioned Gilbert to Roy, half hoping he’d listen to one of them and remember she’d actually mentioned him before. He did not. ‘Have I really never mentioned him before?’

‘No, you haven’t.’

‘I apologise. It was rude to Gilbert and it was rude to you.’

‘What about Cole?’ Roy asked before he could stop himself. Anne arched an eyebrow in bewilderment.

‘What about him?’

‘Does _he_ know you’re being courted by this mysterious Mr. Blythe?’ Anne did her best to remain polite.

‘I’m not sure I follow, Roy, but yes, Cole does know about Gilbert. Cole _knows_ Gilbert. We all went to the same school in Avonlea and, this I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, Cole is a most beloved friend, but a friend, nothing more, nothing less.’ She awaited his reaction, and saw he at least had the decency to blush at having suggested otherwise.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward.’ He lowered his eyes.

‘Apology accepted. Now, I must go back to my reading. I can’t slack off the second professor Thomas recognises my intellect; it would be far too naïve of me to let my guard down.’

* * *

Gilbert sat on the train to Charlottetown with a couple tears falling down his cheeks. He felt so stupid. He’d thought, for the longest time, that had he made his mind up earlier, he and Anne would’ve had things easier. However, their separation had been inevitable. The only timeline in which they both fulfilled their dreams and did not have to suffer the longing of a long-distance relationship, was the one in which they went on with their lives without knowing their love was requited. Now he knew what being loved by Anne felt like, he dared not imagine a life without it, and so the conclusion was always the same: he’d been foolish. Foolish to think time together was all that was missing, and that once they saw each other, everything would be righted. Foolish to think the joy of the reunion would exceed the woe of separation. After some minutes of self-compassion, he took a deep breath and sat straight in his seat. No. Anne had not mustered the courage to smile at him in their goodbyes for him to wallow in self-pity. They had made memories to last them until they met again; she _loved_ him, and that fact alone left no space for sorrow when he felt it in his bones because, God, he’d wanted Anne Shirley-Cuthbert to notice him for so long and then there she was, loving him. He sighed and let the brisk temperature of the wagon recede to his heart beating for Anne’s strong and vibrant spirit.

His joints were sore when he finally got off the second train in the journey, at Toronto’s Union Station. He barely had time to change off his foul-smelling clothes before he had to run to his first class that day, Kitt already gone from their room. Mary Ann and Christine shot him curious and amused looks as he entered the classroom far less tidy than they were accustomed to see him, and snickered between them some comments Gilbert could not hear from where he sat. Their snickers and his confusion were replaced by contentment and pride when they got back their scores at the midterm examinations. He had positively aced his midterms. He made a mental note to tell Anne about it. If she wanted to extend the duration of their academic rivalry, he was not going to deny her the competition.

Outside the classroom, Mary Ann and Christine held their scores proudly: they had done better than most of the men in the class, and that ought to show them they were a force to be reckoned with. Their studies were never over, nonetheless, so they made their way to the library, with reinvigorated spirits after Thanksgiving, ready to crack some books open.

‘So, Gilbert, did you get to see your sweetheart?’ Mary Ann asked, as they walked together through campus.

‘Yes, we got to spend sometime together. She’s doing well in school… somehow tries to keep challenging me,’ he grinned fondly. ‘I cannot wait to finish my studies and ask her to marry me.’ Christine put a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer him some comfort. Mary Ann right up and hugged him, and Gilbert thanked her silently for it. He really needed it.

‘It’ll happen before you know it,’ Christine assured him. ‘You’ll have a long and happy life together; these years will look like a footnote in your story.’ _But the footnote is long and makes many references that require further reading_ , he thought.

‘Thanks for the wishes, Christine.’ He smiled, and suddenly remembered Thomas Lynde’s situation. ‘Say, Mary Ann, Christine, what do you know about treatment for diabetes and diabetic feet ulcer? I’m afraid I encountered the most critical case I’ve ever seen over Thanksgiving.’ He saw them look at each other thoughtfully.

‘Not much,’ Mary Ann confessed, ‘but we’ll help you look.’ Christine nodded at her statement.

‘Definitely. If there’s anything to be done, the answer’s certainly amidst the library’s vast collection.’

. . .

He fell on top on his bed like a sack of potatoes, dead tired after a long day, his general mood lifted by his friends and his grades. He did take pride in his intellect; he was not one to hide it. He lost all consciousness of the material world until some footsteps brought him back to life. He tossed in his bed to see Kitt, who laughed at his dishevelled and worn out state.

‘I’m sure the dead turkey my mother bought for Thanksgiving looked better before she cooked it than you do.’ He laughed again when Gilbert groaned, piqued, at his comment.

‘Let’s get you on a train, a ferry to the mainland, then an overnight train through two districts and, after that, an entire day of classes and studying at the library, and see what you look like afterwards, shall we?’

‘No, thanks, it’d ruin my skin.’ He looked at him funny, and Gilbert was confused, seeing how Kitt seemed to be waiting for something. ‘Well? Did Anne enjoy her present?’ At his words, Gilbert jerked up, remembering all too well the sketch of him asleep on his books.

‘I can’t believe you drew me while I was passed out studying! There’s got to be a friendship code that you just broke!’ Gilbert's complaint let Kitt know what he'd wanted to know, and he celebrated Anne had been quick enough on her feet to hide the second drawing. Attagirl.

‘You should be grateful I’m the one making sure your girl has her mind full of you and not some other lad. I assure you, there must be other men interested in her, even if she’s too distracted to notice them.’

‘I trust Anne.’

‘Of course you do,’ Kitt agreed. ‘But men are pigs, you’d do well to never forget that. It’ll save her a couple unsavoury experiences if she’s sure to drop your name every now and then.’ He made sure Gilbert understood, then grinned. ‘And it won’t hurt if she has a cute drawing of you to fuel her daydream.’ Gilbert flushed.

‘Well, I have to admit she was pretty happy, she wouldn’t even part with it to let me see it.’ He rummaged through his trunk and took out a note. ‘She even sent you this.’ He saw Kitt arch an eyebrow at the flimsy note. ‘I haven’t read it, I swear. She was adamant I was not to take any peeks or steal a glance at it backlit, and I know better than to test the scope of Anne’s awareness or risk vexing her.’

‘You’re a smart man,’ Kitt conceded as he took the note, curious.

> _Dear Rudy (I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty to call you so),_
> 
> _I cannot begin to tell you how indebted I am to you. The parcel was delivered successfully, and the decoy was played flawlessly. Both are currently in my power. Tell Gilbert he has to invite you a pint of ale on my behalf._
> 
> _See you as soon as I can get permission to visit._
> 
> _Anne._

‘You owe me a beer,’ Kitt announced, folding the note back to its original shape.

‘What?’

‘Anne said you’d invite me a beer on her behalf.’ Gilbert rolled his eyes at Kitt’s words.

‘Of course she did. In the conveniently secret note I cannot read to confirm your claim.’

‘You really would put it past Anne to invite me a beer with your money?’ Gilbert took the question and pondered it for a moment.

‘Yeah, you’re right. She probably did.’ He conceded. ‘Let’s go over the weekend, alright? I’m dead tired right now.’ He further explained his point by falling back onto the bed.

‘That,’ Kitt gestured with his hand to Gilbert’s whole self, ‘I can see.’ He picked up a different coat off his dresser and fixed his shirt’s collar. ‘I can’t do tonight anyway, I’ve got plans.’

‘Do I sense, finally, a lover?’ Gilbert jested, curious enough to prop himself on his elbows to look at Kitt, though expecting nothing from it.

‘Something like it,’ Kitt said, with that peculiar look in his eye that Gilbert had been unable to decipher, and Gilbert let his jaw drop in surprise at the confirmation.


	10. I Would by No Means Suspend Any Pleasure of Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished a chapter and had some time, and decided to post. I wonder how far they'll take it with these letters. Thank you all for reading!

_My dearest Anne,_

_I did so well in my midterms I believe there’s little you could do to win this match. I will place this point towards my score, if you don’t object._

_It is now very late at night, and I’m sure Kitt would’ve already thrown me his pillow in protest at my lamp on, but would you believe he is yet to arrive home? I’m not sure I did well to introduce you to such a lowlife, staying out until late on a school night. In fact, he’s been out until late every night since I arrived back in Toronto, which Mrs. Harrison has begun to label as “rather scandalous”. Of course, he doesn’t care. I must thank his tardiness, however, as it allows me to look out the window and stare at the starry sky and think of how you’d say you’d be looking, too. How I wish to hold you while we stare. I hope you’ll forgive me for not answering your letter first thing after I arrived in Toronto, but classes and research have consumed most of my days. I believe there’s not much to be done about Mr. Lynde’s situation. I did my best to try and find a cure, I got my classmates to help me and all, but no cure has been developed for diabetes and all treatments are nothing but palliative care. It is certainly disheartening, I was hoping to send some hopeful words to Mrs. Lynde, but I suppose I will be the one dreadfully awaiting tragical news._

_My sinking feelings are promptly chased away by the contents of your long-impending letter. Had I known Kitt’s sketches fuelled your brazen imagination, I would’ve felt less embarrassed to let you keep the rendition I unsuspectingly gave you. I cannot begin to put into words the way your warning makes me feel, nor how much I regret not being aware of it before visiting you over Thanksgiving. I might have been prepared to let you do as you please, maybe even tempt you to explore further. Would it be something you’d fancy to consider during Christmas time? Of course I won’t in no way be disappointed if you deem too much reconnaissance unseemly, but I cannot say I would not be eager to see you unleash that ardour you so candidly shared with me in your letter – and again in that alley, and once again at Miss Josephine’s. Maybe we could have her aid us to get a few moments alone? I’m sorry if I’m much too bold, but your letter has reignited the memory of that night in Charlottetown and I must say I do wish to relive the experience sometime in the future. It goes without saying, but I wouldn’t dare to think your confessions out of turn, as I treasure and enjoy them far too much. It is my hope you may never feel the need to or have the impression you must hide such things from me. It is not in me to judge what is a most sincere desire of proximity to one so loved as I presume you love me. Do know I reciprocate these feelings tenfold._

_It would be my pleasure to receive you either in spring or summer in Toronto, and I will certainly take you at your word when I am unavoidably tempted by you at night. I fear, however, Doctor Oak might convince you to pursue a career in my field, and that you might surpass me before I have time to prepare for such a competition. Between your tales and your familiarity with the medical section at Queen’s, I imagine you a most worthy and dangerous opponent, and I believe my chances to be recruited as an assistant in medical research would dwindle most tragically. Please do consider to attend a different school, at least, were Emily to brainwash you into studying medicine. Of course, I’ll let Mr. Oak know he’ll have a most eager apprentice the second you set foot on Toronto. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled trying to think of which recipes to share with you._

_Delly was so grown, I could not believe it myself. Maybe I_ should _dedicate myself to paediatrics, to marvel at how fast children grow and become stronger. She’ll certainly be giving Bash all sorts of trouble before we know it. I cannot wait. You were right in that they had written to take care of myself before I visited for Thanksgiving, and they told me so again while I was with them, but I appreciate to hear it from you as well._

_I must admit, our separation left me most disheartened. I already miss you so much. However, you once again astound me with your beautiful writing, dear Anne. It’s as if you’d divined the future and knew how much I’d need to read these words now I’m left without your most beloved company. I am reassured that loving you is far worth missing you. I’m convinced only you could lift my spirits as you’ve done, so low they had fallen after our departure. A future with you is, indeed, a possibility much too sublime to come without a price and, in the future, I’ll remember to do penance by making the most of my time with you whenever we get to see each other. I cannot thank you enough for your letter._

_I’m always left dazzled at the range of events and emotions in your letters. Only you could make correspondence ever-changing and constantly challenging. I’ll write some more to the local papers, maybe I’ll have better luck this time around. I am convinced, however, that after your meticulous plotting with Miss Stacy over Thanksgiving, it’s only a matter of time before you see your efforts bear fruit. In a world at odds, I’d say the odds are always with you, my righteous Anne. I believe your cause is just and it’ll see justice. Do not get discouraged by the indifference of the world, I’m sure you’ll see it change before your eyes, catalysed by your strife._

_I hope you count me amongst your supporters, as I am the firmest believer in you, my indomitable Anne. You are my inspiration, always, in life and in this love._

_Hopefully in love with you,_

_Gilbert._

_Dear Gilbert,_

_I have great news and was, thus, ecstatic to receive your letter and be able to write you back and tell you all about it. I believe this will win me that point you so quickly boasted to have won. Professor Thomas finally had to rectify his initial assessment of my motivations and invited me to the Creative Writing class! I already have enough credits to finish the programme in one year, but I love to write with a passion, and having the opportunity to better my craft makes me weak in the knees with anticipation. Thus far I have set myself on the goal of “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, school teacher”, but doesn’t “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, writer and school teacher” have a much more distinguished ring to it? I believe part of it certainly comes from my hyphened last name, but the title of writer certainly gives it an air of sophistication. I’ve only attended one class so far, but I believe the class will prove a most nurturing experience. Roy is in the class, too, but, if I may confide in you, the story he turned in the class I attended was impossibly dull. I had expected him to have a much broader imagination, and I’m surprised to be disappointed._

_Regarding your letter, I’m sure Rudy is just enjoying an epic adventure that requires staying out later than usual. I wouldn’t write off his behaviour as improper just yet. Whenever I stay up late, which is very often, either studying or writing, Diana simply turns away from my lamp and sleeps soundly. I don’t know what I’d do if she were to complain about my nocturne habits, it would seriously reduce the number of productive hours I have in a day. I might have to skip lunch to make up for it, if it were to happen. I’m eternally grateful to my dear Diana to have such easy sleep and not require me to cut back on my nighttime productivity._

_I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Lynde, how I wish I were there to tell you that you tried and that’s what matters. Doing nothing was the only alternative that provided you with no possibilities, and now you know you did everything you could. I am not one to easily accept my powerlessness, this much you know, but I hope we’ll be granted the wisdom to know when there’s nothing left for us to do, and the peace of mind to accept the fact that at the end of the day, we are human, and the forces of nature, life, and God, often supersede us._

_It is cloudy tonight in Charlottetown. I believe we are to expect our first snowfall soon. I most certainly look forward to a white, fluffy Christmas. I look at the covered sky all the same, wondering whether your night is starry and you’re looking up on your own, even though I said cloudy skies would prevent me from sharing these moments with you. I’m easily swayed in these matters, you see. I am most inclined to favour you more often than not, even in spite of myself. You are quite the danger to my imagination, Gilbert, it does not seem to want to let go of you. What will I do? I need to keep my thoughts focused on my studies if I am to earn the Avery Scholarship. Is that your strategy? To have me lose to you due to the intensity of my longing for you?_

_I have a question, Gilbert Blythe: just how much would you have me explore? If left to my own devices, I’m afraid I would leave no place unconquered. I have been known to be greedy and wicked. Do you truly think letting me run loose on your skin would be a good idea? I’m certain I would be most thrilled, I think of you as a rare treasure, a being most worthy of reverence, veneration; but is that anything like what you want? I’m not sure we’ll get the time over the holidays, but I believe summer would present us with several opportunities to satiate these fantasies. I assure you I love you more than you presume I do._

_I talked to Marilla about it, and albeit she refused to share me during Easter, she did not have enough excuses to provide me with a compelling argument not to visit once my studies at Queen’s are over. She had to concede I’d be a woman grown with a profession and a will of my own and she could only trust me to make sound decisions. So, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you arrange accommodations for me for the beginning of May? I am ever so excited to discover Toronto. I’m elated to be meeting Doctor Oak, and although I make no promises, I shall do my best not to displace you from the field of medicine. I’m so enthusiastic to learn from Mr. Oak! I must make sure I leave for Toronto with a notebook to write down any and all the recipes, it would not do to lose such precious knowledge._

_I cannot begin to express how relieved I am to read my words provided any solace to your saddened heart. I was blue to say goodbye to you, but I try to remind myself that every farewell exchanged between us is only an impeding greeting later on. I shall say hello to you so many more times than I shall see you part, and I keep myself focused on the many possibilities and adventures the years will bring us, rather than the few times we shall be dampened by departure. Look up, my love, there’s joy in love that is true, and my heart beats true for you._

_I have faith in us, just like I have faith I’ll break the will of these resilient newspapers, much like I broke the will of professor Thomas._

_Yours even in the cloudiest of nights,_

_Anne_


	11. Without Knowing What She Did, She Accepted Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be busy over the weekend, so here, enjoy.

Diana held the letter, removed from the physical world. She reread its lines time and time again. The calligraphy was elegant albeit hurried, as if its writer could not wait to get the words out of his mind and onto the paper. A certain agitation took hold of her. His image appeared vividly in her mind. His brown hair, his easy manners – too easy, at times, ready to do something outrageous.

> _Dear Diana,_
> 
> _Or should I call you Ms. Barry, since I left so abruptly? Am I back to square one? Will I have to stand in line if I were ever to pay you a visit? I’m not complaining, simply inquiring about my current standing, so I know where from build myself up. I will only give up if you expressly ask it of me, but I hope you’ll find it in yourself to, if not encourage my correspondence, accept it kindly. I do hope you remember me; I know I must have been but a footnote in your bustling social life, but perhaps it was a humorous one. Otherwise, I believe this letter will prove hilarious instead._
> 
> _I apologise for not having written to you before. I would say the funeral and consequential errands and obligations kept me, but I believe it’s been over a month, and thus any excuse I could present is automatically invalid. I will say, however, I thought of you almost daily since I left. Diana, I believe I only cracked jokes and did foolish acts in order to see you laugh, and I never made you privy to the true contents of my heart. Now, don’t be alarmed, I’m not proposing. But I certainly fancy you profusely, and think it a shame our courtship was cut short._
> 
> _Dazzling Diana, there’s never been a woman I’ve found to be quite as outspoken, licentious, witty, and blasé as you. Please know I do not say this to imply anything other than admiration. The way you dismissed my advances that first afternoon we met at Blackmore house’s parlour was the most honest interaction I’ve ever had in this cynical world of money and appearances. Pretending has never been a favoured activity of mine, and to meet someone over such a futile activity, why, it was the most refreshing experience of my life – or of my courting career, but it left such a monumental impression it’s hard for me to tell. I cannot deny I did not enter the house that day thinking it was a worthwhile affair, yet my surprise must be evident to you, seeing how I kept frequenting your presence for two whole weeks._
> 
> _I was amazed to learn you, too, enjoyed less dignified pastimes than are expected of people like us. You looked ethereal riding a horse that afternoon you allowed me to surprise you, an untamed side of you peeking through your impeccable manners. Divine and daring Diana, however much I enjoyed each and every one of our little trysts, how you show yourself effusive and effervescent when no one else is around. You captivate me, there’s no other way of saying it._
> 
> _I have been kept at Halifax since my father’s abrupt departure. My mother was much aggrieved, and it took gargantuan efforts to convince her she’d be far more tranquil staying with her sister in Québec. I had to make arrangements for my sister, Irene, to attend a boarding school appropriate for the level of education she’s expected to achieve. My father’s lands will keep me busy in Halifax for the time being, but I’m sure I can spare time to come calling on you, if you so allow. I hope for a favourable indictment. My life has become insufferably tedious since you’re no longer in it. No one is quick enough, or even smart enough, to point out the futility of napkin folding for a wake, and I couldn’t help but smile when I thought of you doing so. How you would’ve felt tempted to play something absolutely unsuitable—a jolly tune, perhaps—only to escape the tiring atmosphere of high society. I know you wouldn’t have; you would’ve resigned yourself to play something mournful and fitting at the last second, but I’m sure you would’ve looked at me complicitly for a moment before deciding against it, and it would’ve made me laugh._
> 
> _I won’t trifle you with tales of wealth and a comfortable life because I know they do not speak to your nature. Instead, I offer a regular and sincere communication, the space to complain and vent with someone whom, I hope, understands the strife of a life of expectations, negotiations, and pretending. I offer you daft humour and inappropriate mentions of the attractiveness of your knees when you ride – I trust you know this is a joke, I would not want you to think I have some sort of strange fetish._
> 
> _I pray you at least consider entertaining my fancy, if just for your own amusement._
> 
> _Yours imprudently,_
> 
> _Fred Wright_

Diana’s heart beat erratically, astonished at her own reaction. She mistook herself, failing to recognise the way the letter affected her. Was that turmoil in her heart and head what she had been looking for? Was it what she was supposed to feel with Jerry? She tried to quiet the business of her thoughts but, when she tried, only Fred’s green eyes and hearty laugh remained.

She was so absorbed she did not notice Anne entering their room after a long day, a little confused by Roy’s distant and quiet attitude that afternoon, during their study session. Anne did not notice her either, at first, her mind much too preoccupied with assumptions. Had she done something to offend him? She would have to ask him later... or maybe she should just wait it out? Her trail of thought was interrupted by the sight of Diana, lost in a letter, sitting on her bed.

‘Your parents?’ Anne asked distractedly, half-hoping it wasn’t any bad news from them. Diana and she considered themselves all too lucky to be studying together, and they often feared Diana’s parents would change their mind any time and would make Diana pack her bags and leave for Paris. They had an over-elaborate escape plan that most certainly required Cole’s and Aunt Jo’s help and a faked disappearance. Even though they knew a convoluted plan had been the peril of Romeo and Juliet, they hoped the twists and turns would confuse people enough to give them more than enough time to figure things out. Come the worst, they had promised each other not to immediately assume the other one was dead, to avoid any dramatic suicide – however romantical the action could be.

‘Fred,’ Diana replied, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Fred? Two-weeks-courtship Fred? Touching-over-the-blouse Fred? His-dad-died-and-he-had-to-leave Fred? Anne ran to Diana’s side, eyes wide with emotion.

‘Fred?’ She repeated, waiting for further information.

‘He’s apologising for not writing sooner. He had to deal with matters of inheritance, having to ensure his sister attends a good school and, of course, the funeral. He wants to know if he could keep writing to me. He won’t be able to return to Queen’s, but he hopes to visit some weekends.’ Diana’s words seemed unaffectionate, but Anne knew better than that. At least, she knew better than when she was so wrapped up in thoughts of Gilbert that she neglected her best friend. The speed of her speech and the slight rise in intonation suggested Diana was, at the very least, curious about this Fred fellow.

‘Well? Will you write him back?’

‘I guess there’s no harm in writing a letter or two, is there?’

‘I suppose there isn’t.’ Anne shifted in Diana’s bed, uncertain whether it was wise to pose the question she was going to ask. ‘Don’t get mad but, what about Jerry?’ Diana raised her brow at the question.

‘What about him?’

‘Did you truly not have feelings for him? Or were you just scared of what people would think? What your family would say?’ Diana tried to take Anne’s question as well-intended as it was, so she took a deep breath to collect her thoughts and answer kindly. It had taken her a while to understand why she’d done what she’d done with Jerry. To Jerry. Anne knew Jerry had moved on, but still felt her friend’s heart a mystery.

‘Jerry is a great person, and I wish him every happiness. But I do not think I wanted a relationship from him. I wanted to escape the trappings and constrictions of my household, feel like I was making my own decisions, taste freedom for once. At the time, I think I assigned Jerry all those meanings. I never meant to hurt him. I _did_ like him. I just don’t love him.’ Anne listened to Diana’s words carefully, then took her hands when she was done.

‘I know I already told you, but I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention when I should’ve. I’m sorry I made it all about me when you were also going through things. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I didn’t allow you the possibility to make mistakes without withdrawing my friendship. I broke my bosom friend vow, and I promise to do everything in my power to never let that happen again.’

‘I failed, too. I should’ve never kept such a secret from you. Had you known from the beginning; you never would've jumped to conclusions regarding the meaning of my actions. I, too, promise to do everything in my power not to forsake our friendship again.’ They hugged for what felt like an eternity. Then they parted; hearts full. ‘Speaking of which, I think I like him. Fred. Like him like I could maybe love him, someday.’

‘Well then, I guess we’ll both have pen pals, won’t we?’

‘I dare say the flurry of correspondence is fit to drive Mrs. Blackmore vexed.’

‘All the more reason to engage in his proposal.’ She smiled complicitly, and Diana smirked elfishly.

. . .

Anne nearly jumped off her seat when Cole entered the parlour that Saturday afternoon. She’d been waiting, ever since she’d left him on his doorstep, to know how his dinner with his family had gone. It couldn’t have gone too bad, she reasoned, as his demeanour was as chipper as ever when he walked in and sat by her side, after a heartfelt hug, taking out pencil and paper.

‘How did things go? Did your mother say anything unkind? Was it difficult to say goodbye to your siblings?’ Cole chuckled at her questions, he’d known it was not going to be a quiet evening in any way, but it still amused him how well he knew Anne.

‘All in all, I think it went well. My mother did try to guilt me into staying, but once she realised there was no future to such endeavour, she relented.’ He snickered. ‘I thought I’d never see my mother more alarmed than when she learnt I was skipping school, but my appearing out of the blue definitely took the prize.’ Anne was relieved to hear Cole laugh at the situation. ‘She did let me know I’m no longer a recipient of the inheritance but, honestly, it’s a farm that barely allows one to get by, and there’s so many of us… it’s not much of a loss.’

‘Still, to be disowned like that…’ Anne became suddenly worried, not to be an inheritor? That must’ve hurt.

‘She is my mother, and they are my siblings… but they’re not my family anymore. My family is you,’ he smiled sweetly at her, ‘and Josephine, and Rollings.’ He sighed. ‘It is good to know my mother will welcome me into her home in the future if I ever want to drop by for a holiday, but it’s also good to know she knows her house is not my home.’ At his words, Anne nodded understandingly. She’d never known home up until Green Gables, so she was all too acquainted with houses that weren’t home. They could even be welcoming, at times, but you never missed them when you could no longer enter them; they didn’t become a part of you. ‘So, who else do we have here today?’ Cole asked after a moment of silence, beginning his sketching, pencil lazy but deft over the paper. ‘I was surprised when Lily didn’t follow me into the parlour.’ He grinned. ‘Though I must say she was definitely far more disappointed than I was surprised.’ Anne rolled her eyes at his comment.

‘Jane is here today,’ she gestured towards where they were sitting. ‘Her friend Audrey is here with her. I suppose whatever she usually does on Saturday afternoons got cancelled.’ Cole followed Anne’s gaze and found them on a corner of the parlour, deep in conversation.

‘Oh, Anne, that’s not—’ he interrupted himself. If Anne didn’t know, it shouldn’t be him to tell her.

‘Not what?’

‘Nothing. I thought Audrey was someone else. I was mistaken.’ His explanation satisfied Anne, who shrugged. He glanced over to where Diana usually sat. ‘What about Diana’s current suitor? How long has he been there?’

‘Six minutes, maybe? She might be entertaining him for longer because there’re significantly fewer of them today. Apparently, Thanksgiving was an eye-opener for the majority. They finally understood she wasn’t going to relent.’

‘Wise of them to do. I was wondering what had become of them when I saw only two men queueing outside. I thought maybe they were running late.’

‘Maybe she’ll be sitting with us one of these days.’

‘Oh, but it would break Lily’s heart to never chaperone when I visit.’ Anne rolled her eyes.

‘As if you cared.’ She diverted her attention towards where Ruby and Moody were sitting. They were doubled over a piece of paper, Moody mouthing some words. A new song, perhaps? Ruby tittered, and Moody grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. She thought of her ride with Gilbert to Green Gables, and smiled, the slightest bit of longing in her eyes.

‘Christmas is just around the corner,’ Cole reminded her, taking notice of her expression. She looked out the window, at the mellow blanket that covered the garden.

‘Yeah, just around the corner.’

. . .

‘Miss Shirley,’ professor Thomas regarded her. ‘Your prose proved, once again, an entertaining read.’ Anne nodded, not fooled by his empty praise. She’d been ecstatic to receive such feedback the first time around, but she soon realised that was the only commentary professor Thomas ever made of her work. She became aware that she had not been included for her to improve her writing, but to help improve her classmates’ writing. Professor Thomas regarded her as nothing but quick to draw connections and references to pieces of literature, and with a keen and pointed instinct to critique others’ works. If he’d thought, however, that being used would discourage her, he was sorely mistaken. Even though she was getting no notes on her work, Anne was certainly learning from the notes others received. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert most assuredly knew how to make lemonade from lemons. She’d already made plenty from some of the sourest lemons she’d been given, and the beverage had turned out sweeter and more refreshing than any lemonade she’d ever tasted.

When the class was over, she was joined by Roy, who seemed to have somewhat recovered from the spell of indifference that had taken over him. He kindly kept the door open on her way out of the classroom, and he did so again when they exited the building. The world outside was soft white. Anne had paid little attention to it but, suddenly, she noticed being attentive and courteous was a thing that was engraved in his behaviour, a second nature that flowed through him with absolute ease. It was different from Gilbert’s gentlemanly nature, in that the artlessness of his was part of no second nature but of his essence, and that it was fuelled by affection rather than politeness, making it flexible, able to intertwine it with taunts and dalliance whenever the situation called for it. Roy’s courteousness was rigid and driven by civility, and Anne was taken aback when she took notice of it, so alien were his ways to her, who’d known only intimacy, either intimate politeness or intimate disrespect. As much people in Avonlea badmouthed her, they always seemed to get inexplicably close to offend her, and those who defended her, did so by getting closer to her as well. It intrigued her, the way Roy was a friend and yet remained distant, was civil but did not include himself in their relationship.

‘Professor Thomas always has only nice things to say about your work. You must be pleased, Miss Shirley.’ His voice shook her out of her engrossed state.

‘How come you don’t call me Anne?’ The apparent randomness of her question confused him, but he answered all the same.

‘Because, it is the polite thing to do.’

‘I call you Roy.’

‘I insisted.’

‘Well I insist, too. You’re my friend, my friends call me Anne.’ At her words, Roy clicked his tongue. Had she always been this dense? He did not want to be her friend. He couldn’t help but wonder whether that Blythe man called her Anne, too. What did he have to do to call her like _he_ did? How could he sway her away from that beau of hers and into his arms? Blythe was already so far away, half the job was done and yet… she seemed so inexplicably faithful to the man. He knew better than to pursue a woman who was taken and yet, even then with her infuriating absent-mindedness, the way her red hair framed her face, and the way her eyes sparkled warmly when acknowledging his existence made him feel a little less burdened. She was a wave of summer air in his eternal winter, frigid, rule-bound, fire-dependent. He looked at Anne and thought maybe life needn’t be too strict, maybe she could be his hearth.

‘Alright, _Anne_.’ The name was foreign in his mouth, and it broke his heart it might never reach the level of closeness he needed from it. ‘I apologise, I just remembered I have business to attend to. I’m afraid I won’t be able to study with you today.’ His poor excuse was taken doubtless by Anne, who grinned unaware.

‘Oh, that’s okay. The library itself is a most entertaining companion, it bustles with such life… I’m sure I shan’t feel lonely.’ There it was again, that nonsense that emanated from her and amused him to no end. He did his best to smile and tipped his hat to her, mustering all his self-control not to do something stupid. He was taught better than that.

. . .

‘Anne! Anne!’ Diana was running towards her, newspapers in hand. Were Mrs. Blackmore to see her, she’d disapprove, but at the moment she was probably having tea with Lily, so there was no all-seeing eye monitoring her improprieties. ‘Your letter’s been published!’ Anne let her jaw drop, incredulous of Diana’s announcement.

‘What?’

‘Your letter’s been published!’ She repeated, catching up with her at the gate. ‘Or, should I say, letters.’ She handed her the newspapers. ‘I was just on my way to the library to tell you. They’re not small papers, either. _The Star_ and the _Mail and Empire_ printed them. There may be more, but you know Mrs. Blackmore says reading the news is something for gentlemen, and anything that keeps us from our studies would be time better spent in needlework, so there is a shortage of papers for the size of the household.’

‘I can’t believe this!’ Anne opened one of them and, surely, there it was, one of the many letters she’d sent in hopes it’d be published. She felt the tears building in her eyes, and a long-held burden was suddenly lifted off her heart. She knew this meant by no means that Ka’kwet should be freed any time soon, but it gave her hope. It gave her some sense of influence, that she might sway some hearts to help her friend. In no time, her tears did not allow her to read, and she handed the papers back to Diana. ‘I know I wrote them, but could you read them to me?’

‘“ _Mr. Editor of_ The Star _,_

_It is with a heavy heart that I write this missive. I’m sure your distinguished readership and you are acquainted with the boarding schools our government, with great foresight, has opened to instruct Indigenous peoples in all matters concerning civil society. Certainly, such a great enterprise is very progressive and speaks of the efforts to form a solid nation in the name of Her Majesty. This being said, I have recently learnt of a situation that leaves me most distressed at its irregularity and cruelty. A young girl from a Mi’kmaq tribe, who attended one of the boarding schools for a period, went back home after feeling immensely homesick and lonely. However, I’m sure, due to a misunderstanding, she was forcefully taken from her family and sent back to the school in Halifax. It is a most troublesome tale, as I am assured our government would never want to inflict such pain on any family, much less hamper the sole discretion that was granted to us by Divine Providence, through forcing a child to study far from her family when no child in Canada is required to attend school against their families’ will. I have no connection in office nor anyone tied to the boarding schools in any manner, but I’m hoping in writing to you, your reputable and caritative readership will see it proper—and in the duties of a faithful Christian—to right any mistake that might have been made in this matter. I’m certain anyone who is parent to a child can empathise with the distress that her family is undergoing at the moment and will see that an end is put to it._

_Respectfully,_

_Anne Shirley-Cuthbert._ ”’ Diana took a deep breath. ‘Oh, Anne. It’s a beautiful letter. I hadn’t even taken the time to read it, in such a haste I was to find you.’ She saw Anne sobbing, and she hugged her. ‘I’m sure people will be moved, Anne. If anyone can change the coldest and most indifferent of hearts it is you. You, with a pen, are a most unstoppable force.’ Anne sobbed into her dress at her words, and Diana smiled, hopeful.

‘I only want her to be reunited with her family,’ Anne said between sobs. ‘I told her so many times how marvellous school was, Diana, I feel like it’s partly my fault she’s in that awful place. I’ve never told anyone this, but had I not intervened that day Mrs. Lynde gave them the pamphlet, had I not given her my dress, had I not encouraged her so enthusiastically, she might still be with her family, her beautiful long hair tied in braids like the ones I used to wear.’

‘It’s not your fault, Anne.’

‘I shouldn’t have left that day in Halifax. I should’ve stayed with Aluk and Oqwatnuk. I should’ve laid my life down if that helped right the situation.’

‘Anne! It’s not your fault. It really isn’t. It is not you who lied about the true purposes of the boarding school, nor was it you who mistreated Ka’kwet, nor was it you who robbed her from her family, nor was it you who refused to give her back. You’re a most faithful friend for not giving up. Others would’ve discarded the matter as hopeless and would’ve moved on with their lives, but you’ve persevered, and I’m sure, wherever they are, Ka’kwet’s parents would appreciate your efforts if they learnt of them.’ She felt Anne’s sobbing subdue a little. ‘Even if this particular matter is not resolved happily, you’re already setting precedent for a better future for everyone by fighting the good fight, Anne. Your bravery shall save us yet.’

‘Oh, Diana, whatever shall I do the day you’re not around to support me.’

‘Why, use Gilbert’s strong arms for support, silly.’ At that, Anne couldn’t help but chortle.

‘He does have strong arms,’ she mustered to joke back, earning herself an entertained gasp from her bosom friend.

* * *

‘I can only assume what that letter says to make you flush so.’ Kitt said, entering their room and surprising a much distracted Gilbert, enraptured in Anne’s words, reminding himself why was it he wanted to study in Toronto, so far away from her, trying to device a million ways to get her alone for Christmas, all his plans as ridiculous as impossible. His blush deepened at Kitt’s interruption, shame rising at the feeling Kitt had read his thoughts, nonsensical as that was.

‘Anne wouldn’t—˝ he tried to lie, but Kitt stopped him.

‘Even if I were to believe that, which I don’t, that Anne wouldn’t think of such things does not keep you from thinking them.’ He gave Gilbert a knowing look, who coughed to try and mask some of his embarrassment.

‘You’ve been out quite a bit lately,’ he replied, trying to steer the conversation away from himself. ‘And you have this silly grin on your face…’ Gilbert jumped on his bed, suddenly connecting the dots. ‘You’re _in love_ , Mr. Kitt.’ Kitt smirked goofily at Gilbert’s accusation.

‘You did warn me it might happen.’ He saw Gilbert laugh, delighted to have been right.

‘Well, who’s the lucky lady?’ At his question, Kitt’s expression changed, and his eyes got that glint Gilbert had been unable to name.

‘Gilbert, how trustworthy would you say you are?’ Gilbert was perplexed by the question.

‘That is a tricky question. No honest person would say they’re entirely trustworthy, and affirming one is so begs the opposite interpretation.’ Kitt grinned at his reasoning.

‘I knew as much. I thought maybe you’d like to meet them.’ The mystery Kitt was sowing around his sweetheart made Gilbert arch an eyebrow curiously, but he decided to trust Kitt’s judgement.

‘I would love to meet the person who made Mr. Rudy ‘Love-Is-Not-For-Me’ Kitt eat his words.’

‘I still think love is a pesky business.’

‘Of course you do.’

. . .

A few hours later, Kitt was gone once again, and Gilbert could not deny he was enjoying the recently acquired privacy his absence bestowed upon him. Tried as he could, Anne’s letter repeated itself time and time again, rendering his efforts to study useless. _I have a question, Gilbert Blythe: how much would you have me explore?_ He could not even bring himself to write an answer to that. What was he to say? How does one go around to answering such a brazen question from one’s sweetheart? He went through some responses in his mind. _As much as you want_ , perhaps _I’ll leave you to your own devices, then_ , or maybe _Everything_ , or _Dammit, Anne, what the fuck are you doing, I’m so far away, will you even follow through on this teasing when we see each other again? Will you do me as you say you will? Because I’d really like that_. Yeah, definitely not that last one. Although he felt it. He felt it so true, he wanted her to be greedy, he wanted her to let shame fall off her and do something as brassy as touch him. Of course, he knew, they wouldn’t be able to do everything that could be done, they had yet a ways to be married, but he wouldn’t mind to see more of her. It was more than primitive desire… when he’d seen her bare chest it had ignited something in him. It was not just the temptation to touch and be touched, the arousal and raciness of the moment—although there was certainly some of that—but also the way his heart had quenched at the sight of her skin, barely even seen by the sun. The rare feeling of belonging that had so elusively presented itself in his life. Separate they were but two orphans, but together… together they were home.

She was so frustratingly right, though. There was no hope to see themselves like that again until summer. The exterior world would be stone cold and hard, uninviting and perilous to activities that required baring oneself, and their homes would be too warm and cosy, making them filled with possible witnesses, people wanting to see them and talk to them and, of course, they would want to be there with them, close to their hearts as they were.

Come summer, however, he prayed Anne would still feel prone to fall prey to such impulses. How should he wait until then? He was not one to bid his time – although, ironically, he’d done it in more than one occasion.

. . .

The study hall for medicine and pre-med students was a large yet cosy room, full of wooden desks and shelves. The curtains were thick and rich, their velvet a deep petrol blue. It boasted electric lamps, although Gilbert could see how keeping a room often filled to the brim with sleep-deprived students fire-free was probably the cheapest choice. It was one of the few buildings in U of T that remained open until ten, and usually there were at least half a dozen students taking advantage of its late hours availability to try and cram as much as possible.

‘I’m not sure this is going to work, Gilbert.’ Christine declared, out of breath. It was late and, most oddly, only the two of them remained in the study hall.

‘What do you mean it’s not going to work? We both know how it works, it should work.’ Gilbert said, less certain than he sounded.

‘I know, but you know theory and practice are vastly different. I mean, it doesn’t _fit_. I know it should, but how could it?’ She was nervous, and Gilbert chuckled.

‘You know it’ll fit. We just need to be careful, it’ll all be better once we’re done.’ Christine sighed at his words.

‘I suppose you’re right.’ There was a sound, and they turned, alarmed, to see Mary Ann in the doorway.

‘What on Earth are you two doing?’ Mary Ann’s words made Christine roll her eyes.

‘It’s not what it looks like, I can explain—' Gilbert tried, but Christine cut him off.

‘You have eyes, Mary Ann. What does it look like?’ Christine said, annoyed.

‘Like you’re in a load of trouble.’

‘We’re doomed,’ Gilbert declared.

‘You’re certainly right. How could you? I cannot expect either of you to pass the exams like this.’ She gestured at the poor doll on the table, all its organs scattered around, Christine holding the liver, Gilbert holding the heart.

‘It was not our decision to take out all the organs out at once,’ Gilbert said. ‘I was just making a joke about how the short intestine looked like a caterpillar—˝

‘I don’t care. We have to fix this, quick. We have to get home, Christine, you know that.’

‘I know,’ Christine exhaled heavily. ‘It’s not like we haven’t been trying. But you think two pre-med students would be able to put an anatomic doll back together and yet—˝ Mary Ann giggled.

‘Now, I’m sure neither of you are blessed with much patience. Here, let me help.’ It took them like half an hour still, but Mary Ann was certainly much more skilled at puzzles than they were. They felt much too tired to savour the victory once they were done, and they left the study hall with the doll carefully held so as not to fall into that satiric experience again.

‘Will you please not tell James about this? I’d be far too embarrassed if he were to tease me about it.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ Mary Ann grinned greedily.

‘Oh, you—’ Christine bit her lip not to curse her. ‘I’ll get you some of those chocolates you like so much. The ones that come filled with fudge.’ In response, Mary Ann giggled cheerily. Gilbert felt ever so thankful to have such lively friends, a wave of affection washing over him as he looked at them. He would certainly be miserable without friends to cheer him up.

. . .

Gilbert waited on the bar Kitt had asked him to, a little fretty about all the mystery. So far, he knew Kitt to be a cheerful and wilfully reserved sort of fellow. He didn’t mind it. He was funny and knew when to tease and when to leave things well enough alone. All the build up around his lover was uncharacteristic. He’d foreseen Kitt would scream to the four winds he was in love when it finally happened, and it did not feel like him as he looked at the clock on the wall and realised, they were late. It all explained itself as, after the sun had definitely set, Kitt walked in followed by another gentleman. For a split second, Gilbert wanted to ask what had happened to his sweetheart. But the man next to Kitt _was_ his sweetheart, or better said, his beau, he understood immediately after. Kitt took a seat across from him in the booth, and the man with him sat by his side. Kitt asked for a round of beers, and once they were in front of them, he finally said:

‘Gilbert, this is Bosie Fortin,’ he gestured towards the man by his side. He was the opposite of Kitt in many ways, Gilbert noted. Although they were both lean, Bosie was shorter than Kitt, and his snub nose was a contrast to Kitt’s straight nose. His eyes were brown while Kitt’s were piercing blue, and his hair black and straight, unlike Kitt’s curly dark blond. ‘Bosie, this is Gilbert Blythe, my roommate.’ Even their tempers were different, while Kitt’s was easy and level, Gilbert realised Bosie’s was irascible and impatient when he said:

‘Why are we even doing this, Rudy? I get that Blythe here might be a standing man, but that doesn’t change the fact that the police will be at out doorsteps tomorrow morning and we won’t live to see the end of the week.’ He turned to Gilbert. ‘No offence,’ though Gilbert got the impression he did really mean it. Kitt tried to say something, but Gilbert interrupted him.

‘I get it, you’ve no reason to trust me, Mr. Fortin, but I would never do anything to put Kitt in danger. He’s been a real friend to me ever since I arrived in Toronto. Even if he weren’t, it’s not my place to meddle in his personal relationships, and I’m honestly just really happy to see him as cheerful as I’ve seen him these past few days.’ At his words, Bosie stared at him doubtfully, wondering whether he was being genuine. Gilbert did emanate this strong sense of integrity and trustworthiness, and Rudy did trust him enough to ask him to meet them that night for drinks.

‘So he’s been acting cheerfully, you say?’ The gentlemen laughed.

‘Like a child with a new toy,’ Gilbert admitted, and it surprised him to see it embarrassed Kitt in no way to be exposed like that. They were sitting sensibly apart for curious eyes in the bar to remain unsuspicious but, to him, the affection in Kitt’s gaze whenever it settled on Bosie was palpable. ‘So, how did you two meet?’

‘Oh, it’s silly,’ Bosie said, clearly embarrassed.

‘I took the train to the countryside to clear my head and, on the way back, he was on the seat next to mine. Ten minutes into the ride, he fell asleep and rested his head on my shoulder. I wanted to wake him up, but I saw him sleeping so peacefully and I – I just couldn’t bring myself to disturb him.’ Kitt’s storytelling had Bosie blushing furiously, but Kitt was lovestruck, his manners so certain. It was a heart-warming, Gilbert thought, the certainty and confidence with which Kitt loved Bosie.

‘Are you from outside Toronto, Mr. Fortin?’ This time, Bosie winced at such politeness.

‘Bosie, please. “Mr. Fortin” is so stuffy. I actually think it quite funny you don’t call Rudy by his name.’

‘He requested to be called Kitt, so I obliged, but very well, I will call you Bosie. Please do call me Gilbert.’

‘I believe I requested the same thing of you,’ Kitt said to Bosie, ‘but you decided against it to annoy me.’ Bosie rolled his eyes.

‘Right. Well, no, Gilbert. I have a grandmother who lives out of the city, my father sent me to check on her that day, have an early Thanksgiving dinner with her and make sure she wasn’t lonely. Forgive me if I don’t ask a lot of questions, but Rudy here has filled me in with many of the details in the hopes I would understand why I just had to expose myself like this.’

‘Come on, it hasn’t been so bad, has it?’ Kitt asked.

‘I have yet to wake up to an empty doorstep.’ They laughed. They drank their beers, and when they were ready to leave, Kitt announced heartily:

‘Today’s Gilbert’s treat.’

‘It is?’ He asked, surprised at Kitt managing his finances.

‘Anne did say you owe me a beer.’

‘That was the girl you said is Gilbert’s sweetheart, was she not?’ Bosie asked.

‘Yeah, she is. I suppose I cannot go against her promise,’ they could all tell that, although he thought Kitt a rascal for cashing in that beer when there was one more person to pay for, the memory of Anne was all too sweet to annoy him having to make good on her promise. Bill settled, they went outside, the winter air swirling around them, giving them a chill.

‘Well, it was lovely meeting you, Bosie,’ Gilbert extended his hand, and he shook it. ‘I’ll be going, then.’

‘Wait,’ Bosie said. ‘It’s better if Rudy goes with you now.’

‘But I want to walk you home,’ Kitt complained.

‘Yeah, and what if someone notices you walk me home and then you double back to your boarding house? It’ll look suspicious. No. Go with Gilbert now.’ Bosie’s words made Kitt pout, but after a few seconds he relented.

‘I’ll be seeing you, Bosie.’ They shook hands, lingering ever so slightly longer than customary, and Gilbert realised they couldn’t kiss goodbye. Not because it was inappropriate, but because it was illegal. He couldn’t even imagine how hurtful that would be. If he couldn’t even kiss Anne goodbye… he didn’t want to think of it. Kitt and he walked home in silence and, before they knew it, snow had begun falling. He looked up to the sky. Was it snowing in Charlottetown, too? ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,’ Kitt said, breaking the silence.

‘What do you mean?’

‘About Bosie, about me. I just want to assure you I’ve never felt like that. About you, I mean. When I asked you to hold my hand after midterms…’ his voice trailed off.

‘I get it.’ Gilbert sighed. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself. I was thinking about Anne, actually.’

‘She is very beautiful,’ Kitt agreed.

‘Not like you’d be interested,’ Gilbert jested.

‘Oh, but I would. I like women _and_ men, Gilbert.’ Those words caused Gilbert to look at him, surprised.

‘That’s cool,’ he said, scratching his nape as he processed the news. He saw Kitt’s timid expression and rushed himself to add: ‘I’m just reminding myself not to be a jealous idiot and take the compliment to Anne for what it is: a compliment.’

Kitt laughed, relieved. ‘There’re already too many possessive beaus, it’s good you’re trying to keep things fresh for her.’


	12. Had Never Been So Bewitched by Any Woman as He Was by Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: thank you so much for all the amazing comments and feedback! It's truly lovely to feel your support and it certainly encourages me not to dally too much between one chapter and another. Second of all: I'm not sure how busy I'll be this weekend, so just in case, here you have a little teaser.

_My dearest Anne,_

_I’m ever so happy to learn your hard work has been rewarded! I was certain you were to succeed, you are, after all, the most intelligent and capable person I know. I truly think it a worthy endeavour to refine your writing, however much I’m already entertained and engaged by your prose. I would even read your notes from class, so absorbing your writing is to me. It all carries a distinct Anne-ness with it. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, writer and school teacher” seems, indeed, a lofty and meritorious goal. I hope to only encourage you to attain it, I wouldn’t dream of deterring you in achieving your dreams, even if they only grow in time._

_I find it infinitely amusing—and also unfair, of course—you were kept from a class where such dull writers were allowed facing no opposition. Are you sure you need this class to become a writer? I know I’ve just written I only wish to support you, but you’re already so talented, the finest wordsmith I’ve had the pleasure to read. Is your professor’s validation truly a merit when he seems to be only rewarding a situation determined at birth? I do not doubt your judgement. If you believe the presence of a dull writer is more of a slip of criteria rather than absence of discerning capabilities, then I will wholeheartedly support your decision to keep fighting against your professor’s prejudice._

_Kitt was enjoying an adventure, indeed, one of romantical nature, that is. I am not at liberty to discuss it, but I believe he will fill you up on it if you meet in the summer. For my part, I’m certainly enjoying the time to study, as well. He seems ever so chipper, I’m glad for him. Kitt, unlike Diana, is incredibly sensible to light, says it disrupts his sleep. Biologically, it makes sense, but academically? Why, it is a mystery Kitt is able to handle all his classes without studying until late. At least, now he is getting home late I get a couple extra hours indoors, which is far safer than my latest study sessions. A couple days ago, I was studying with Christine and we messed up putting together this anatomic doll… we would’ve been in so much trouble if we had to give it back undone. Mercifully, Mary Ann arrived just in time to save us. It wasn’t a big deal to give the doll in any state, but admitting we weren’t able to put it back together, well, that would’ve been quite embarrassing. I studied so much afterwards; I can now say with absolute confidence I could put it back together with my eyes closed._

_Last night was the first snow of the season. Winter is really here, isn’t it? I can only hope for Christmas to arrive promptly, so we can sit by the fire and share the stories that didn’t make it into these letters. I’m ever so thankful to the friends I’ve made here, otherwise I fear I would think of nothing but you, and God knows I already think of little else. Do know, however, no dishonest strategy is being plotted by me in any way. I’ve always meant to beat you fair and square, and this is no exception._

_That being said: what on Earth are you attempting with such a provocative question, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert? Are you attempting to drive me mad, knowing we cannot engage in any risqué activities until summer? Are you curious to see the lengths I’d go to get you alone if you tempt me enough? Because, believe me, I would have you do your bidding and then some more. Be aware that if you tempt me, I will succumb, my adored Anne. I will do anything you ask of me. This notion is not lessened by the prospect of receiving you in the summer. I’m not sure I will be able to share you with anyone, I’ll be wanting to spend every waking moment with you. This leads me to some follow up questions: what would you have me do? What exactly are you scheming, mischievous Anne?_

_Tonight, the night is starry, and I think of you, as promised. Between your soothing words and the knowledge that I shall soon see you again, I am calm in the certainty that the days until I greet you again are fewer than those passed since I last said goodbye to you. I shall talk to the Oaks, since they offered to host you, whether they are available to receive you in May. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to know they’ll have you as a visitor, they enquire so often about you I’m starting to think they’ve developed a greater fondness for you before even meeting you than the one they hold for me almost three months into our friendship. I would feel offended, were I not so in love with you to understand why anyone would be far too fascinated by you. I know I am._

_I am counting the days until winter break; I hope Marilla doesn’t mind having me over almost permanently._

_Yours impatiently,_

_Gilbert_

_Dear Gilbert,_

_One of my letters was published by two papers!!!! (That we know of)._ The Star _and_ Mail and Empire _published it, and I was so relieved to have finally gotten through to someone that it made me break down completely. Had not Diana been there, I might have cried for the entire afternoon. I am so comforted by this small victory, Gilbert, just knowing the world_ is _movable, like you said, is the most soothing balm I could have ever asked for. Diana has already reassured me it’s not my fault, but I still can’t fully shake the feeling that I could’ve prevented Ka’kwet from attending that horrible school and instead I only encouraged her. It breaks my heart, but I console myself with Diana’s input: I didn’t know I was setting her up for hardship. I did not prompt her to enrol knowing it would hurt her, nor how much._

_Since my last letter, I’ve learnt that professor Thomas intends for me to be a resource to help the rest of his class, and does not will to give me any honest or useful feedback. However, he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks his inattentiveness is going to dampen my spirits. Oh no, I shall use whatever I listen to and read in that class to boost my writing skills further than professor Thomas aims or expects me to. Now I have succeeded in the face of indifference, opposition is a breeze. When they are already engaging with you, they have to care in some measure as to put up a front._

_I know it worries you I’m over-exerting myself for someone who does not deserve it, but I must regrettably admit professor Thomas does have a good eye for spotting issues in the writing of my classmates, and his indirect advice has helped me refine my writing much more than I thought I needed to. I think, too, having to apply all his recommendations so indirectly has given me a more critical eye towards my own work. I can now easily spot narrative problems that challenge a proper development of a story a mile away. I have always been a good storyteller, but I believe my orator qualities have boosted them further than they can go on their own. Learning to infuse my stories with the pace and emotion I give them when I read them aloud has helped me mature and improve as a writer._

_I am really curious about what sort of person has caught Rudy’s eye. Are they a rare beauty? Are they a keen mind? Are they both? I’m certain Rudy is a kindred spirit, and whomever he’s interested in must be a beautiful person. I’d love to meet them both when I visit for the summer. Is Rudy from Toronto? Shall he be there when I visit? Either way, I’m happy to hear a little more about him and your other friends. You do not mention them enough. I sometimes have to fill in the blanks with my imagination when I try to picture your life in Toronto. Maybe write about them a little more often? I love reading about you and your feelings but reading about your adventures lessens my worries that you might be lonely._

_Charlottetown has been freezing these past few days, although I cannot deny each season fills me with a different thrill, all of them emphasising and encompassing a distinct aspect of the world around us. I think winter heightens the quiet and the soft. The warmth within ourselves and between us and our different relations. It certainly highlights the purer and more vulnerable aspects of my feelings for you. I wish I could transmit to you through this letter just how close you are to my heart, how cherished and dear you are to me._

_In answer to your query: I’m only trying to keep you warm these cold winter days, make sure you have something to look forward to till summer arrives. Do know it makes me ever so excited to know you’d allow me to do as I please. It will be difficult come Christmastime, to have you so close, knowing all to well the things I’d do with you if no one was around. To be more specific, as per your request, things like kiss you, maybe be so bold as to take your shirt off… get your hands on me and my hands to discover the novelty of your skin. I, too, think it will be torturous to wait until summer, but I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait. I have to, however, be the voice of reason and ask you not to do anything rash to get me alone during Christmas. To be improper safely, a certain degree of self-regulation and common sense must be upheld. I want to do such things, but I do not want to receive even weirder looks whenever someone sees me riding Belle or Burty. Avonlea is much too small a town to avoid ill consequences if we’re found out, and we’re both too close to Mrs. Lynde to live it down if even any rumours get around. I must ask you to help me remain discreet. I’m writing this now because I’m sure to forget it the second we’re reunited, and I trust you to be more prudent than me. Historical precedent would also support my impression as to which of us is more probable to keep their wits about them._

_I recently learnt that some of the stars we see are not really stars but planets, like Venus, or Mars, and they’re not always there. Maybe we can choose one specific element of the night sky and make sure we’re looking at the exact same thing? I know that had I said to gaze at the moon from the beginning this would be easier, but I’m sure you see the attractive in a challenge. Moreover, Shakespeare wrote “O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon” and I would have to say I quite agree it’s better to hold on to a more “permanent” celestial body. Perhaps a constellation?_

_Yours no matter what,_

_Anne._


	13. With the Strongest Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the chapter’s undecided title but I had to travel and I left the book I’m taking the titles from at home, and I thought it too ridiculous an excuse to keep me from updating. I really hope you like this chapter!

Queen’s Academy bustled with social life in spite of the frozen stillness of the natural world, much like the rest of Charlottetown. An imposing Christmas tree adorned the main entrance hall and marvelled its witnesses with the advent of fairy lights. Anne spent some good ten minutes contemplating its miraculousness every time she passed by it, making herself tardy for two of her classes that week. Nevertheless, the magic-like twinkling of the lights provided her with a cosiness she wondered whether she could ever reproduce at a home of her own, and the fantasy was much too rich and riveting to escape it when it enraptured her. They did truly look like fairies, or summer fireflies, flickering delicately around the tall and dense Christmas tree.

The news of Anne’s letter on the paper soon reached the suffragette group at Queen’s. Prissy and Katie promptly found Anne after one of her classes to strategise: they had to make a move, take advantage of the momentum her success gave them. Anne had barely taken her mind off Grammar when she saw their enthusiastic faces pop seemingly out of nowhere. She looked at them, waiting for an explanation, until she saw the paper in their hands. Her heart leapt in a mixture of pride and a sense of unfulfilled obligation.

‘Anne,’ they said in unison.

‘We read your column,’ Prissy lead.

‘We’d love it if you could write something similar for the school paper.’ Anne could barely believe Katie’s words.

‘Do you really mean it?’ She asked, doing her best not to burst with excitement, scarcely succeeding at it.

‘I do,’ Katie replied with a smile, ‘you’ll have to submit a draft for us to approve before you give it to the editor, but if it’s anything like your letter, I’m sure we’ll love it.’ Anne thought of the draft she’d redacted with Miss Stacy before Thanksgiving dinner.

‘Oh, I’ve already prepared a little something just in case you might relent someday, I’m sure you’ll approve it.’ Prissy and Katie shared a dubious glance between them at Anne’s response, but nodded reassuringly towards her, who remained oblivious.

‘Certainly,’ they said as one.

. . .

Roy had failed to appear to their study sessions ever since he’d left her that last time. He was civil during their classes together, but the second she stepped out of any classroom, he was nowhere to be found. She did not want to believe it, but it seemed he was actively avoiding her. She could not devise a reason why he would want to stop being her friend so abruptly. Unless Diana was right and he did have feelings towards her, but that was ridiculous. Roy would never even look twice at someone so free-spirited and plain as her. Her best quality was her keen mind, and Roy was too traditional a gentleman to seek a lady who was so outspoken and feisty. She could see him with someone like Ruby, perhaps Diana: a classic beauty with impeccable manners. She was much too clumsy and untidy, as much as Marilla had tried to instill in her a behaviour fit of “a young lady” she had never outgrown the need to climb trees and follow squirrels and talk to hares.

Still, the fact remained: she sat alone in the library, sporadically accompanied by Diana or Josie or Ruby. Tillie had given up on the library completely – she could not study someplace she could not chat; and Jane was always in a world of her own, her friendship with Audrey ever so tight and consuming, and she seemed happy so, naturally, Anne was happy for her. The week went on like that, Roy’s absence heightening the long-internalised fear of rejection Anne harboured within the darkest corners of her heart. It was not as bad as before confirming her parents had, in fact, loved her. Or as before knowing Gilbert reciprocated her feelings with as much ardour as she felt. However, it was still real enough to ignite a little bit of anger within her. The fact he could not even excuse himself properly for his absence was what angered her the most. She could take upfront rejection, but simply fading away like her breath in the cold winter air? That was dishonest and rude. Of course, after her initial outburst of temper, Anne reckoned, perhaps, her failure to mention Gilbert earlier in their relationship had given him the impression she was of a disingenuous nature and, why, it would be completely understandable if he thought so. She decided, then, that if given the opportunity to converse, she would apologise most earnestly.

In the middle of the second week, Anne found herself reading by a window, stealing glances at the falling snow and the stray bird that stood on the spotless cloak every now and then. The empty canvas of white seemed to relieve her ever overburdened mind when she looked at it, and so it served as the most welcome break in between books. She had already made a huge dent into the rather small collection of medical books, and if they were to last her until the end of the year, she was to find different and new ways of taking breaks, hence, the window seat.

A sweet voice took her off her required reading of the afternoon, kind amber eyes and soft hazelnut hair accompanying it.

‘May I sit here? I’ve noticed your study partner does not join you here anymore.’ She said. ‘I’m sorry to pry, but may I guess: bad breakup?’ Her question made Anne stifle a laugh.

‘Not at all.’ She saw her back away from the chair she was grabbing, and was quick to elaborate. ‘I mean, the breakup. Of course you may sit. You’re in some of my classes, aren’t you?’ At Anne’s assent, she extended her hand with a broad grin.

‘Priscilla Grant.’ Anne extended her hand, too, and shook Priscilla’s.

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Anne with an E. May I call you Pris? I already know a Priscilla and it would be all too confusing to call you the same. Of course, I’ll make the effort if the nickname does not suit your fancy.’ She made Priscilla laugh, which earned them a stern look from the librarian, even though—or perhaps because—Anne was with her. He had become rather fond of Anne, although they rarely spoke. Her red hair made her greeting nods distinct from the rest, and soon enough he was pleased to witness her methodical studying and the passionate reverence with which she regarded every book she touched. He disliked, however, her companions, which were, more often than not, less devoted to the sanctity of the place than Anne was. Priscilla winced and made a gesture in lieu of an apology, and he let it go.

‘Pris is just fine, Anne.’ She sat in front of her and opened one of her books. Anne mimicked her and returned to her reading. ‘So, what happened to your friend?’

‘Honestly? I have no idea. One day everything was fine, and the next he said he had an errand to run and that was the last I saw of him.’

‘I see,’ Priscilla said. ‘I thought you were courting, the way he always sat with you, even if he had nothing to read.’

‘Oh, no, I have a beau of my own. Plus, Roy wouldn’t be interested in _me_.’

‘A beau? Do tell.’ She looked at Anne expectantly, and although she did not ask about it, it was not lost in her the way Anne had put herself down.

‘His name is Gilbert. We studied in the same school back in my hometown, Avonlea.’

‘Oh! I’m from nearby: Carmody.’ She pointed out, excitedly. ‘Where is this Gilbert now?’

‘In Toronto,’ she exhaled defeatedly, but immediately returned to her high spirits. ‘Studying medicine. It’s his vocation to be a doctor.’

‘Admirable goal for a boy from a farming town. Well, Anne, I can step in for this friend of yours, if you’d like. I’m often studying here, and I must admit the sole presence of someone else makes the task all the more bearable.’ Anne grinned in response.

‘I’d like that.’

. . .

Blackmore house’s parlour was a large room, warmer than Anne had expected the first time she’d entered it, from Mrs. Blackmore’s countenance and manners. The walls were decorated with dark wooden appliqués and oxblood draperies and curtains. It boasted two large windows that could be opened in the summer to allow a more refreshing temperature, and a wide, cosy windowsill in the smaller window, which decorated the corner furthest from the main door. By the windowsill, a tea table and two comfortable armchairs were positioned perfectly to enjoy its view. However, they lay neglected whenever Anne was on her own, the windowsill her favoured spot even when it was far less warm during the winter days. She sat there then, raised above her friends, to relinquish the “better” seats to them. They were not fooled, nonetheless. They knew Anne would not trade the window seat for the world and yet, they preferred it that way. None of them liked the cold, nor wanted to brave it for the romantical aesthetic of the window seat, like Anne did.

‘Are you sure it’s good?’ Anne asked for the thousandth time. Diana smiled reassuringly while Cole rolled his eyes.

‘How come you’re sitting with us today, Diana?’ Cole inquired, pointedly. ‘There were still a few gentlemen waiting outside today.’

‘I got tired, so I sent them home. I plan on meeting no more suitors, it’s pointless anyway.’

‘But she plans to keep writing to one,’ Anne provided with a smirk.

‘How selfless of you,’ Cole observed, giving her a teasing look.

‘You traitor!’ Diana hit Anne jokingly with the back of her hand on her leg, the limb closest to her. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t necessarily _mean_ anything. We just tell each other about our days and such.’

‘Gilbert and I tell each other about our days and such, too.’ Anne said, smiling knowingly.

‘Sure, that’s why you blush so fiercely when reading his letters of late. From his description of his breakfasts.’ She earned herself a vexed look from Anne.

‘Please, do not stop this feud on my account, I’m a most blessed spectator, taxing willingly on the information that’s surfacing,’ Cole commented, infinitely amused.

‘Just you wait,’ they said in unison.

‘You’ll find a beau one of these days,’ Anne predicted.

‘And we won’t let it go,’ Diana threatened.

‘I cannot wait,’ Cole said, the sarcasm palpable. ‘Like you’d be able to do so an ocean away.’

‘But you’ll write to us, won’t you?’ Anne asked.

‘I’ll go to Paris and haunt him down if he doesn’t,’ Diana assured them.

‘No need for that. I want to know the developments of this novel your lives have become. Of course I’ll keep a periodic correspondence with you.’ They smiled, pleased at his confirmation. They heard Tillie squeal gleefully then, and they turned their heads to see Paul producing a box of chocolates. Mrs. Blackmore would have to let her eat them upstairs, and they all sighed longingly, except for Cole, unaware of the privilege of chocolates.

. . .

‘So, what do you think?’ Anne asked, fretting slightly. The other women were gathering their things and leaving gradually. Josie, uncharacteristically, waited for her to finish talking to the board. She knew this column in particular was very important to Anne and, as much as she pretended not to care, she couldn’t help but want to know the outcome of the deliberation on the matter. It would be slightly regrettable to her if Anne’s spirits got shot down and her column rejected – as it could certainly happen, Anne’s optimism a double-edged sword.

‘It’s lovely, Anne,’ Katie said. Anne knew immediately something was wrong. “Lovely” was rarely used to describe a good column. A novel, perhaps. A journalistic piece? Never.

‘We only have one note,’ Prissy added.

‘We think it’d be best if you left out this line here where you imply Mi’kmaq women could be included amongst the women who could vote, if we attain female suffrage.’

‘It could give readers the wrong idea,’ Prissy explained. Anne blinked, dumbfounded.

‘And what idea would that be?’

‘Well, you must be certainly aware the only way we can obtain the female vote if it’s we assure Indians won’t be voting, too.’

‘Not even male Indians are allowed to vote,’ Katie pointed out.

‘I understand that, but isn’t that what we’re fighting against? The status quo? I know it’s not our personal battle, but shouldn’t we extend an olive branch? Express solidarity? We know what male oppression feels like. Their suffering is greater, they are oppressed by both men and women.’

‘We know,’ Prissy assured her. ‘But if we want to succeed, we have to be strategic. You now have an opportunity to write on the injustice done to your friend, don’t waste it trying to push ideals even more difficult to process.’

‘We have to set milestones, we cannot go for all the goals at once,’ Katie said, and Anne nodded. She could feel they meant well, but she could not shake the sensation that, just maybe, they were doing her a favour letting her write about Ka’kwet. It was as though they did not _truly_ care about Ka’kwet, but rather they cared about her: Anne.

‘Alright, I’ll remove that part,’ she relented, aware a censored column raising awareness about the boarding schools was better than no column at all. She turned to Josie, and walked out of there in silence. Anne was rarely quiet, which worried Josie.

‘Was it that bad?’ she asked.

‘No, no. They’ll run it. They just had a note, and it makes me wonder whether we truly belong in these circles.’

‘What do you mean? Everyone’s very nice and we’ve learnt a lot.’

‘I know but… I worry they only want the best for people who look like us. Wouldn’t you agree Ka’kwet deserves respect, too? Wouldn’t you agree all women, regardless of race, deserve respect and a voice?’

‘Before meeting you, it would have never troubled me,’ she admitted. ‘I must recognise, even now, my first instinct is to fear whatever those Indians will do if we give them too much power, or how little decorum would show to admit black women into our midst.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think maybe some of your trash nature has rubbed on me. I cannot help but feel those ideas are hateful and selfish, right after I think them.’ Anne chuckled.

‘I’m sorry I contaminated you.’

‘Don’t be. I think I wouldn’t feel quite as hopeful about life as I do now, if you hadn’t been there to make me question myself and the world around us.’ She smiled assuringly.

‘Thank you, Josie.’

‘You’re welcome. Now, keep moping. Your unbreakable spirit is what I’ve found so annoying all these years, acting so beaten is unlike you and gives me the creeps.’ She looked at Anne as meanly as she could, but Anne wasn’t buying it anymore, and so she simply laughed.

. . .

Exams arrived soon enough, and Anne felt she was burning through the exam sheets with the intensity of her arguing and analysing and articulating and assessing. (N/A: She was Anne-alysing ­– I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself, it’s late and it made me laugh). The afternoons she’d spent reading with Roy and Pris came to mind like a storm, incessant and boisterous, her thoughts lightning and her writing thunder. She seemed possessed, a Lady Macbeth trying to rid her hands of blood – instead trying to write herself clean of the many artifices she had crafted regarding her every class, pouring them into the few lines or pages she was allowed for each exam. She was left so worn, she stumbled onto her room with little grace that final Thursday – not that she was generally very graceful, either. Diana was to leave that very day, while she was to leave the next one, once she’d rested a bit. As much as she’d wanted to spend every second after the exams with Diana, she allowed herself for a few minutes of self-preserving rest, lying lifeless-looking on her bed.

Still, they had enough time to gather in their room with the rest of their friends, all of them giggly and bubbly with the spirit of the season and the freedom of having finished a term. January was still a ways from the present, and they were all ready to relish a much deserved rest.

‘I’m so happy we finished our first term!’ Ruby exclaimed.

‘I can’t believe I left an entire page blank on the Algebra exam,’ Tillie lamented herself.

‘I’m certain I did well, so I can’t relate to your situation,’ Jane said, proudly.

‘I’m sure I flunked, too,’ Ruby consoled her. ‘But the important thing is now we don’t have to worry about it.’

‘We still have one term left, Ruby,’ Josie pointed out.

‘That’s a problem for next year,’ she said, decidedly. ‘Future Ruby will have to deal with that.’

‘I like that perspective,’ Anne declared. ‘If it’s not happened yet, it’s not a problem yet.’

‘As if you could stop dreaming of the future,’ Diana rolled her eyes.

‘I cannot help my imagination, Diana.’

‘Oh, that you could,’ Josie sighed. Offended, Anne threw a pillow, starting a pillow fight that ended only when Lily blew a whistle and Mrs. Blackmore reprimanded them. They all thought it was most certainly worth it.

That night, with Diana gone, the room felt incredibly large. She had grown accustomed to her cosy room in Green Gables, where there was room enough to sleep and write and wash herself, and she was perennially accompanied by the Snow Queen. She looked at Diana’s side of the room in the twilight: it was perfectly neat, everything where it ought to be. The wall was empty, unlike her own, and the bedside table held a dainty glass cup with dried flowers and, when Diana was there, a journal would usually rest by it. She knew Diana would not be _so_ tidy were Mrs. Blackmore more permissive. However, she detested disorder, and so Anne was constantly reprimanded for the mementos and knickknacks she kept all around her side of the room. She didn’t mind it, though. She preferred it to a dull bower – she liked to pretend the rich accommodations were the closest thing to a bower she’d ever know.

Her eyes skittered to the wall beside her bed, a postcard from Toronto, Jerry’s Christmas card, a clipping from her published letter to the paper, her mum’s portrait, and Gilbert. Gilbert sitting, sheepishly posing for Kitt. Gilbert asleep halfway through a study session. She’d been left hung up on his words. _Be aware that if you tempt me, I will succumb, my adored Anne_. She was taken by reminiscence, her skin burning and tingling and goose-bumped. The warmth between her legs returned like it had showed itself at Aunt Jo’s. She had felt it before: when her undergarments folded and wrinkled themselves uncomfortably, rubbing her into a curious feeling. When she took Burty or Belle into a gallop and the friction made her aware of herself. When she tried to fall asleep some nights. _What are you scheming, mischievous Anne?_ The fire that went through her, however, had been different. Gilbert had awakened a side of herself she hadn’t expected. Intercourse had been taboo for most of her upbringing, and even Doctor Lewis’s lecture had been clinical and impersonal. Gilbert’s hands on her breasts, his lips on her neck, his lips on her chest… that had felt acutely intimate, in contrast. She slid a hand under the covers, under her nightgown. She touched the throbbing button of skin and nerves tentatively. Nothing. She thought, maybe, she could probe her entrance – could she do that? Would it hurt? Doctor Lewis had not covered touching oneself on her lecture – _What would you have me do?_ Dubious, she went back to what was known. She traced her breasts, remembering how it had felt nice when Gilbert had done it. Corset-free, however, she found the skin much more sensitive, and “nice” became too flimsy, too quiet a word to describe the pleasure she felt from it. The heat growing within her, she ventured south once more. She was a little more determined this time around: she rubbed the knot gently, and soon found it – good, yes and the friction welcome and maybe she could go faster, too – oh, was that? So, so – she had no words because what could describe something so new to her and so her mind stopped thinking and she _felt_ and even her beau faded into the background because there was only her and her skin and the throbbing and the pulsing and the wetness and the breaths, accelerated, and she bit her lip when she felt her voice trying to escape her—damn—she wasn’t supposed to say or think such words but _God_ – yes, God, she felt a prayer, a hymn build within her and then – Heaven. It had to be. As far as she was concerned.

* * *

Doctor Oak poured him another cup of the same warm wine beverage they had served him before leaving for Thanksgiving. The phonograph played a soft, soulful melody that infused him with a vivid daydream, one of a homely winter afternoon by the fire, drinking the same flavourful drink, the distant shouting and laughing and running of children, his hand lazily resting on top of Anne’s. The vision felt so real that, for a moment, he felt the bliss of the imaginary scene, and could swear he felt the warmth of Anne’s hand in his. It dissipated, sure enough, when Mr. Oak spoke.

‘Ems told me you did wonderfully in your midterms. If you keep that up in the upcoming exams, you’ll be soon offered to partake in medical research with professors. I don’t care much for it, but Ems certainly enjoys it, medical research.’

‘I’m sure you’ll love it too, Gilbert.’ She assured him.

‘That sounds wonderful. I truly hope I can secure it. Anne has me bound in a sort of competition, and I cannot let her down by being an unworthy opponent.’

‘Your Anne truly does sound like a most interesting character,’ Doctor Oak commented.

‘Oh, you’ll have the opportunity to meet her this summer. She’s coming to Toronto in May. Actually, I was hoping you could host her as you offered? It would be a great help if you could provide her with room and board.’

‘Oh, what wonderful news! I shall peruse my cookbook to select the absolute best recipes for the occasion,’ Mr. Oak exclaimed at once.

‘When exactly is she visiting? I have to make sure everything is absolutely perfect to receive Anne.’ At their reactions, Gilbert chuckled. He expected no less of the Oaks. He, too, was in a flutter of spirits whenever he knew he was going to see Anne. Thankfully, that day was not very far away, only a week was left until Winter Break. A few exams and he’d be home bound to Anne.

‘Well, I’m sure you have more than enough time to prepare for her arrival. I would appreciate it if you could at least pretend to enjoy my present company enough to get us through a meal before you begin making arrangements?’ He jested, and the Oaks laughed.

‘Of course we enjoy your company, Gilbert,’ Emily assured him.

‘It’s only because we like you so much we want to cause a good impression on your sweetheart,’ Edward agreed.

‘I believe there’s little _you_ could do to cause a bad impression on Anne. You’re already outstanding people and a lovely couple.’

‘Now, now, Gilbert,’ Emily warned him, ‘careful now. Flattery _will_ get you everywhere with us. Use it wisely.’ Her call for caution made him chuckle.

‘I think it’s time we eat, lest we overextend the amount of time we are in the presence of this charmer,’ Edward stood up and headed towards the dining room.

‘I quite agree. Odysseus’s sirens didn’t sing a sweeter tune than our Gilbert here.’ Taking a seat, Gilbert saw the duck legs on the plates, Edward expertly placing them, the presentation impeccable and appetising.

‘Now, Gilbert, permit me to enchant you with this dish, on my turn. The time I spent in France led me to believe it is true what they say about the French being rude. Exquisite artists, enrapturing writers, mesmerising philosophers, all of that they are. Try and talk to them on the street, however, and their predisposition to not understand a word out of your mouth either in French or English will drive you insane.’ Emily giggled, and Gilbert took it her experience had been similar. ‘I’ll take French-Canadians over French-French any day. However, they are incredibly dextrous in the culinary arts. I believe I have yet to taste a better duck than the one I tried and learnt to cook in Paris. If you ever visit, Paris, you should do well to eat as much as you can.’ Eat a lot he did, at least of the dish Mr. Oak had prepared, the meat so tender it dissolved in his mouth, the flavour so simple and yet so sublime it enticed his appetite all through the meal.

‘This is delicious,’ he said, between bites. ‘You truly are an accomplished cook, Edward.’ At Edward’s smug smile, he hurried to add: ‘And the wine is delicious, too, Emily. Accompanies the dish impeccably.’

She beamed. ‘Why, Gilbert, thank you.’

. . .

‘Are you going to spend the holidays with Bosie?’ Gilbert asked distractedly, re-reading his notes to senselessness. _A few exams and I’ll see Anne again_ , he repeated like a mantra in his head. He could no longer try and keep the part of his brain that thought about her constantly from taking over the rest of his grey matter. Christmas loomed ever so close, and he was becoming impatient. The result of his impetuosity became especially vexing to Kitt, who had to put up with Gilbert sighing constantly and flying a paper plane towards him only a few seconds after each time he’d sent it back. And he demanded attention, all the time he passed in their room. It was not forward, but he would do or say something every now and then that required a response or at least a glance and Kitt was finding it all quite maddening. It’d be endearing, weren’t he trying to study, too.

‘I wish. He’s celebrating the holidays with his father and sister, and I’m supposed to spend it with my family, too. It’s not like we can give a plausible reason as to why we want to invite our “friend” over for Christmas dinner or anything of the like.’ Kitt’s response made Gilbert realise he’d been stupid. Of course they couldn’t meet during the holidays like other couples did. ‘I still got him a little something. I’m hoping we can meet for New Year’s, at a party in campus or something.’

He perked up and directly neglected his notes, halting the pretence and setting them aside when hearing about a present. ‘What did you get him?’ He asked, curious. ‘Let us hope you can see him sometime. It’d be all too lamentable if you couldn’t.’

‘A bowtie.’

Gilbert arched an eyebrow. ‘A bowtie?’

‘See, you cannot just dismiss my choice. You barely know our relationship, you cannot presume to know everything about Bosie.’ Kitt had given up on studying, too, and turned in his chair to face Gilbert. ‘He’s a law student. He needs to wear formal attires more often than most people, and he certainly prefers to repeat outfits as little as his situation allows. So, I believe, a bowtie—and it’s a very fine one, at that—will be very well received.’ His words made Gilbert hold up his hands, in surrender.

‘Alright, alright. You’ve made your point. It’s a very thoughtful gift. I’m sorry for implying otherwise.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m sure Bosie will love it.’

‘He better do so, it was not cheap.’ He smiled warmly, in spite of himself. ‘What did you get for Anne?’

‘I,’ he looked at Kitt dead in the eye, certainly proud, ‘got her a book. An anthology of Dickinson’s poetry.’

‘You bought her poetry.’ Kitt shook his head. ‘It is ever so intriguing to me however you got her to fall in love with you.’

‘You just said one should not comment on the other’s choice of gift without a thorough understanding of the relationship and or the recipient of the gift!’

‘Incorrect. I said _you_ shouldn’t do such thing. Plus, I believe I’ve learnt more about Anne from a portrait, your ranting, and a note, than you have in three years.’ He saw Gilbert roll his eyes.

‘You barely talk about Bosie, that’s hardly fair.’

‘Now, shut up and listen. You give her that book, sure, she’ll be thrilled, she’ll love it, she’ll thank you, give you a kiss, whatever.’ Gilbert smiled foolishly at the picture he was painting, and so he added: ‘But if you want to nourish her affections, if you want her love for you not only to remain but to _grow_ , why, loverboy, you should do something that speaks to her nature, like you did when you picked up that peacock feather to give to her.’ At his words, Gilbert frowned, confused.

‘So, what is it that you’re saying I should give to her, exactly?’

Kitt sighed, exasperated at his denseness. ‘Why, Gilbert. Do not buy her poetry. _Write_ her poetry.’ He saw his lips round in a perfect O as realisation sank in. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘She did mention one of her friends’ suitor had written her a poem and how that was romantical and whatnot.’

‘You think you can best that poem? Because she certainly read it, probably more than once.’ It sometimes scared Gilbert how well Kitt knew Anne without having even met her. He shrugged smugly, slightly offended.

‘Of course I can write better than Paul. He could barely string a couple of properly written verses when we were in school.’

‘Good. You do that. It doesn’t have to be long, but it has to be meaningful.’

‘I feel like I’ve heard that before.’

‘I give good advice. If you have other people in your life who give good advice, we are bound to say similar things from time to time.’ He said, proudly, and Gilbert grabbed his paper plane and threw it at his head.

‘You’re too full of yourself.’

‘You say that but, deep down, I bet you felt offended I didn’t have a crush on you.’ Gilbert gave him a jokingly annoyed look.

‘Well, I must say I still doubt it.’

‘You’re not that good-looking.’

‘You take that back, Rudy Kitt.’ His words made Kitt chuckle. ‘I had quite a following back home.’

‘Where the choices were you or some brute?’ He laughed, throwing the paper plane back. ‘No doubt.’

‘You’re shattering my self-esteem.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible.’ He turned to the clipping of Anne’s letter to the paper on the wall. ‘Plus, whatever does it matter if people find you attractive or not? You have _her_.’

‘I’ll forgive you, only because that last bit is true. I have Anne.’

. . .

He’d slept barely and awfully on the train to Nova Scotia, and the ferry was not a trip that could be considered restoring. So when his eyes caught a flash of red in the harbour as the ferry got closer to land, he thought he was dreaming it. He was so tired, it was not surprising he was making her up, like he did when he slept. However, the flash of red became a stationary flame, one that waited at the dock with flickering eyes and a warm smile, nose and cheeks red like her hair, the cold sea air attacking her skin relentlessly.

‘Anne!’ His voice caught her attention and she found him amidst the multitude.

Anne smelled like sea salt and grass and the soap with subtle flower scent from the general store in Avonlea. Her smell wrapped around him as he let his shoulders fall in relief and grabbed her face to kiss her, passengers and pedestrians and strangers bustling around them, bumping into them. Anne tasted like peppermint candy and gingerbread and, well, Anne. She kissed him softly, hungrily, comfortingly, relieved and comforted. She had missed him so, so much.

‘Gilbert.’ She whispered when they parted.

‘You didn’t have to come to welcome me in Charlottetown.’ He kissed her temple, not wanting to separate himself from her. ‘I probably smell awful, you could’ve waited until I got home and took a bath and I went to find you.’ Anne chuckled.

‘You _do_ smell a bit travelled.’ She giggled. ‘But you still smell like you.’ She admitted, nuzzling the collar of his shirt affectionately.

‘Okay, I know you love each other and all, but it’s cold here.’ Anne rolled her eyes at the interruption.

‘Gilbert, you remember Jerry.’

‘Of course I do.’ He tittered at Anne’s annoyance. ‘Hi, Jerry.’ He greeted, his arms still tightly wrapped around Anne.

‘Hi. Now, can we go?’

‘I suppose there’s not helping it,’ Gilbert shrugged, taking Anne’s hand in his and prompting her to follow Jerry to the train station.

‘I still can’t believe they made me come with Jerry,’ Anne complained. ‘I’m old enough to travel on my own, I don’t need a chaperone.’

‘I don’t think the chaperone was for you, Anne,’ Gilbert pointed out.

‘He’s right,’ Jerry conceded. ‘I’m supposed to keep you from kissing and stuff.’ Anne’s face let Jerry know she thought the idea of him keeping them from doing anything very funny. ‘Sadly for Matthew and Marilla, I don’t care enough to stop you. Plus, you’re gross.’

‘Is it gross when you’re with Brielle, too?’ Anne teased, and Jerry blushed, like she’d hoped.

‘Brielle?’ Gilbert asked, curious.

‘Jerry’s sweetheart in Carmody.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Gilbert smirked. ‘Is she nice?’

‘Very nice,’ Jerry said, proudly. ‘Now, let’s not make this about me.’ But it was too late. The teasing was incessant all the ride home. Soon enough, though, it was only Anne teasing him, as Gilbert fell asleep almost immediately, Anne’s presence soothing, his heart solaced properly, allowing sleep to take over him. He plopped against her shoulder only a few minutes into the ride.

Gilbert was woken up by Anne’s hand on his cheek. ‘We’re here,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good nap?’ She asked, diverted by his rather disoriented look.

‘I feel extremely well rested, considering it was only a short train ride.’ He grabbed her hand and kissed its back. ‘Thank you for acting as a most soft pillow.’ She giggled.

‘You’re welcome.’

Gilbert was—only slightly—disappointed when they got off at Bright River and saw Bash and Muriel waiting for him. He’d hoped for some extra time with Anne on the way home and, had he known his family would be waiting for him, he would’ve fought the drowsiness to talk to her and kiss her hands and admire her liveliness and make Jerry uncomfortable.

‘Miss Stacy!’ Anne exclaimed, completely forgetting him, and he could only grin at the way her excitement always got the best of her.

‘Anne! It’s so good to see you!’ She received Anne’s hug with a warm smile. ‘I got your letter, I’m so proud of you! I made sure to save a clipping of your letter to the paper.’ Gilbert’s admiration was caught short by Bash, expecting a hug of his own.

‘I missed you,’ Gilbert said, comforted by his brother’s frame.

‘If it were someone other than Anne, I’d be jealous of how much attention you give her.’ He chuckled.

‘Where’s my niece?’ Gilbert asked, seeing as neither Bash nor Muriel held the infant.

‘She’s home, it’s too cold outside,’ Bash explained, and Gilbert nodded, as it was probably the wisest thing to do.

‘I really need a bath, let’s go home.’ He said, and went to find Anne while Jerry greeted Bash and Muriel.

‘I’ll see you later today. I’ll come calling after getting things in order.’

‘I’ll be sure to warn Marilla, then. She’s always thrilled when you come visit.’

‘Your parents are much too good to me.’

‘They probably are.’ She held his gaze for a second, then sook his lips, only to have a:

‘Hey, you two, proper distance, now!’ Stop their want and their craving for each other. Jerry tugged at her sleeve.

‘Come on, Anne, there’re too many witnesses now to let you do as you please,’ he murmured to her. Gilbert and she rolled their eyes at their family, and separated with the promise to see each other in a few hours. But to say they stared at the clock waiting for the hours to go by was an understatement. They yearned for each other with aching intensity as they knew they were only a few hectares apart.


	14. With the Hope of Elevating His Felicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still away from home so no title for this chapter either, and better late than never. It’s but a snippet, but I promise the wait for the chapter after this one will be worthwhile (or I very much hope so!)  
> Please excuse such a short update!

_My dearest Anne,_

_I will probably be headed towards Avonlea by the time any reply of yours could reach Toronto, so I think it best if you just write down the things you want to tell me and tell them to me in person – it’s so exciting to think I’ll be seeing you soon._

_I am infinitely proud that your letter was published. I got a copy of the_ Mail and Empire _of that week solely to read it, and it now hangs proudly on our wall. Kitt’s a most avid fan of your writing, too. He says you have a sharp plume and I agree. Mrs. Harrison will be most confused by the clipping in the middle of the room, but perhaps it might become informative for her, too._

_I wish I could’ve been there in that moment with you to support you, I’m sure the mix of emotions was most overwhelming. I would like to join Diana’s assurance that Ka’kwet’s hard life is in no way your fault. You’ve done the best you’ve known how at every turn, and I’m sure Ka’kwet still believes you a faithful friend, in spite of everything that’s transpired. I’m forever thankful to Diana for supporting you through your moments of self-doubt. Do know, whenever you doubt yourself, that I never doubt you, my authentic Anne._

_I fully endorse your decision to remain in that class, at least now you know exactly what this professor’s character is, and what are the advantages and disadvantages of remaining in his circle. I believe only you are equipped with the critical eye and the talent to make the most of such a situation, prove a faithless man wrong in his own game. I already long to read the stories you shall write with your developed skill, maybe you can read me one over Christmas?_

_I’ve, since your letter, met Kitt’s beloved. They are a very interesting sort, that’s for sure and certain, but I believe no description I can give you will do them justice. You’ll have to meet them for yourself, if Kitt doesn’t mind introducing you – which I’m every day surer he won’t. He’s developed a definite fondness for you, and he talks about you in the most uncanny manner, as if he already knew you, for years, at that. They are both, indeed, from Toronto. What is more, I believe we might be attending a wedding when you visit. I had forgotten to talk to you about it, but your request for more information about my acquaintances has brought it to mind. Christine is getting married when school is over for summer break, and so, if you’d like, we could attend her wedding, together. I’m sure it’s bound to be a delightful affair. It’s never been my intention to maintain my life out of my addresses to you, but I’ll try to keep it in mind you wish to read more about it. I just begin writing and forget about almost everything that isn’t related to you._

_I can’t say I’ve paid the season as much attention as you have, save for thoughts of how much Bash must be suffering the cold, and wondering whether Delly is as querulous as her father. I suppose winter in Toronto is strangely lively, the streets are frozen and quiet at times but, in campus and downtown, buggies and cars go chasing their destinations like it’s any other day, and people come in and out of shops like nobody’s business. The snow becomes soggy on the main roads and gets mixed with dirt and litter and it becomes a rather unromantic business. I believe Avonlea provides a much more immaculate scene. Toronto’s worn and blotched, and not in that way that makes places and things look hallowed._

_I love you, too. I love you so much I think it a little funny you expect me to be the voice of reason. I messed up the set of the Dashing White Sergeant in class just to dance with you. I left my bags in a train without a second thought to find out whether Diana’s mention of your feelings was true. I can but imagine what I would dare to do to let you warm my winter face-to-face. Much like you wish to read more details about my life in Toronto, I would love to read more details about your spicy plans – if you’re comfortable in letting me know. I must agree, however, that staying out of Mrs. Lynde’s radar is for the best. However “charming” she thinks we are, as soon as she senses the smallest impropriety, we’re doomed. I do not think she’d tattle maliciously, but I doubt she’d be able to help it. But if I got you alone for a moment, why, Anne, I do not think I could keep my wits about me. Nevertheless, I vow to try my best, for you, my daring—and darling—Anne._

_If I may make a suggestion, perhaps the star of Sirius could be the star we stare at. It’s the brightest in the night sky, and I believe the words “Canis Major” are certain to give you a thrill. It is also a star that has served as guide for travellers, and I thought it was fitting, seeing as we have years ahead of us to navigate both life and this relationship._

_I’ll be staring at Sirius unless you reply not to._

_Loyal as a canis,_

_Gilbert_


	15. It Was Greatly My Wish that He Should Do So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be getting home this weekend, so I should finally be naming these past three chapters. I truly hope this chapter proves worth the wait. Also, thank you so much for all your lovely comments, I’m overwhelmed by your kind words and support!  
> Shoutout to user erikame for giving me the idea for part of this chapter. Enjoy!

There was a ruckus around town hall with the rehearsals for the Christmas Panto as the days got closer to opening night. The story of the Christmas Panto changed a little every year, so as to keep it fresh, and Anne had an ongoing bet with the gals from Blackmore house as to what changes there would be. She hoped for a knight to be added in this rendition, and Ruby hoped for a love story. Town hall was filled with children, younger than the previous years, as the eldest generation of the school had graduated. Anne had caught sight of Minnie May once, drilling a choreography to some classmates, when she’d been over that Saturday to pick up and leave costumes for Marilla, but she had been promptly chased away by the children, Rachel, and Muriel. Rachel and Muriel had become a surprisingly powerful team when it came to the development of the Christmas Panto. They had proven so the previous year, and their differences did not keep them from teaming up to create a magical show once again. Indeed, Rachel needed Muriel’s help more than ever, her husband more ill with every passing day. Thomas Lynde usually sat on a wheelchair on a corner while his adored wife took charge of directing the traditional musical.

All activities, however, were suspended during the duration of Sunday service, the people of Avonlea gathered in the cosy church, hearing the minister’s ranting but not really listening. The novelty of their relationship was over, yet he could still feel some curious glances every now and then. Nevertheless, since Rachel had to forgo Sunday service to take care of her husband, he and Anne could engage on silly battles like staring competitions and guessing whatever the minister would say next. Only once they received a stern look from Marilla, which all in all wasn’t that bad, especially when taking into consideration she’d smiled at herself afterwards, the relationship too precious and tender in her eyes to get vexed at their childishness.

‘I assume you’ll be walking Anne home, Gilbert?’ Marilla asked once only their family remained out of the church. The snow was crunchy and smooth, but its beauty did not detract from how freezing it was and it kept everything about it.

‘Your assumption is correct, Marilla.’ He turned to Matthew. ‘I promise to get her home safe and sound.’

‘I have absolute belief in Anne that she will arrive in one piece,’ Matthew replied, smiling to his daughter. She gave Gilbert a smug grin. Their family left and they followed afoot, soon losing them from sight. Anne was already talking about her exams and how she thought she had outdone herself, and he listened to her, silently remembering the intensity of their correspondence, their less than proper tone in some paragraphs. Anne’s arm in his reminded him of her warmth, the soft and sleek skin underneath the garments, his imagination racing to take him back to that evening in Charlottetown. The moment had been perfect and yet, perhaps he should’ve asked for more? Maybe it was _the_ chance they’d had to get to know each other better in a more… physical sense. He daydreamed of the frilly frame surrounding Anne’s chest often, and the sermon they’d heard not a couple minutes ago did not stop him from envisioning it again.

‘Gilbert?’ Anne’s voice took him out of his trance. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m sorry, I was… lost in thought. What were you saying?’ His excuse was poor and her face told him so.

‘Just tell me where you got lost and I’ll recapitulate.’ Her words made him smile nervously.

‘The beginning?’ He wanted to chuckle at her reaction, her lips parting in an expression of surprise and offence, but he knew better than to do so.

‘Gilbert Blythe! What were you thinking about you decided to so rudely ignore me?’

‘I was thinking about how your note was lost,’ he lied. ‘What did it say, exactly?’

‘My note? Why, I think I’ve told you the gist already…’ she thought about it for a second. ‘But I believe I wrote I’d been confused before and I wasn’t – I’m not anymore. I love you.’ He grinned to hear her say so, and she mirrored him. ‘I know it was lost but, what does it matter anymore? The outcome was positive nonetheless.’

‘I sometimes dally on it,’ he shared, in spite of himself. The context was a fabrication but there was truth to his tendency to contemplate the past sometimes.

‘I’ve come to the conclusion there is little benefit to doing so, when there’s nothing left to be done about the situation one feels inclined to ponder.’ She tugged at the lapel of his Sunday suit. ‘Plus, now you’re missing out on the things happening at the present.’ He chuckled at her words. He looked at her and could not disagree. Her blue dress and her blue eyes brought out the red in her hair and her freckles, and the snow all around them did nothing but intensify the colourfulness of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She was vivid and vibrant.

‘I see now what a sin that is,’ he conceded before closing his lips to hers, the sensation sweet and warm against the steel of winter. She held onto the lapels of his suit to keep him in place, and he felt the blood boil in his veins as he went back to his realisation of how much he’d missed her, how much built up expectation her letters had created in him. ‘I hate it that it’s so cold out here,’ he whispered when they parted. She looked at his darkened eyes, the black in them a window to her imagination to interpret and imagine whatever his mind harboured at the moment.

‘I love each season, but I have to admit I long for summer like I never have before.’

‘At least I get to see you,’ he said, trying to look on the bright side.

‘We get two blessed and long weeks together, I’m sure they’ll be more than gratifying.’ She kissed the corner of his mouth before prompting them to keep walking. ‘Now, would you mind answering my previous question? I was telling you about how I let the suffragette group censor my column to get it published on the paper. Do you think I did well? I thought a censored column was better than no column, and it was only one line I had to take out.’

He took a deep breath in order to collect his thoughts and enter a logical and academic mood. ‘I think you did what you could. I, too, think a censored column is better than no column at all. What did they have you take out?’

. . .

Jerry lay next to her, his breathing a soft reminder of his presence as she fell asleep. The Snow Queen stood protectively out of her window, rime covering its edges, as if winter had touched it briefly. Green Gables had that cosy creaking of wood at night, soft enough to be comforting instead of scary, present enough to be heard. She dreamt of a brave princess who took over her father’s place in the militia after he fell gravely ill, and commanded their troops into battle, losing her life but winning peace. She felt tears in her cheeks as she came to consciousness. Jerry’s arm was shaking her awake, his face one of confusion.

‘Anne, I think someone’s out there,’ he murmured. She arched an eyebrow, still half-asleep.

‘Tell them to go away,’ she mumbled.

‘I think you should go look,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to show my face on the window, in case there truly is someone out there and they get the wrong idea.’

Anne groaned annoyedly. ‘Alright, I’ll look.’ She stood and walked to the window, and she could finally listen to what had woken Jerry up. Small knocks came from the glass every few seconds, like pebbles thrown to their demise. She did not turn on the lamp, the moon was bright enough to see, shining almost as much as the winter sun, and just as cold. She moved aside the curtain and gasped at what she saw. Standing on the ground, looking up, Gilbert waited with a ladder in his arm. He grinned at her. She opened the window, letting the crisp breeze chill her face into complete alertness. ‘Gilbert! What are you doing here?’ She talked as loud as she dared so as not to wake everyone up. The thrill of feeling like the heroine in a tale of a maiden trapped atop a tower battled with the dread of what Gilbert would see if he tried to rescue her. Before replying, he set the ladder against the wall—was that the ladder from the barn?—And climbed up before she could stop him.

‘Help me in,’ he asked, giggly.

‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Come on, it’s freezing out here.’ Anne knew the situation was inevitable.

‘Alright but you cannot make a fuss about it.’ Her words confused him, but he nodded as he took her hand and let her pull him in, careful not to hit his head with the frame. Inside, his eyes took a second to adjust to the poor luminosity provided solely by moonlight, which shone much brighter outside. He then saw and understood Anne’s warning. His stomach turned at the sight of Jerry sitting on her bed, almost as startled as him, and his jaw clenched in an effort to keep quiet.

‘You have to know what this looks like,’ he said after taking a deep breath.

‘Jerry just can’t sleep on his own,’ she explained. ‘He comes from a big family living in a small house. He’s never slept alone, and he has trouble falling asleep when he is. But that’s all there is, he’d never touch me.’ Gilbert tried to rein himself in. He couldn’t make a scene, if they got caught, they would all be in trouble. Anne seemed sincere enough, that much was evident to Gilbert, in spite of how little credibility the scene bestowed her.

‘She’s like a sister to me,’ Jerry added. ‘You know I have Brielle. I would never think of Anne like that.’ Right. Brielle. They’d told him, hadn’t they? Anne got closer and took his hand in his. She was so warm, he welcomed her touch through the gloves, instinctively, before he could think whether or not he should allow it, before he could decide just how cross he was with her. _Don’t be like Liam_ , a voice within himself reminded him. He nodded.

‘I think it’s better if you leave, Jerry.’ Anne’s voice was soft, and Jerry nodded. ‘I’ll see Gilbert off.’ Jerry smirked in response, once he realised he was off the hook.

‘Sure, see him off.’ He headed towards the door. ‘I’m not stupid, you know?’ He turned the bedside table lamp on, casting shadows and warmth on the room, a sweet orange tint enveloping them in an atmosphere that was delicate and secretive and flickering. Jerry looked at them a last time before leaving. ‘Anyway, be careful.’ He looked at Gilbert this time around, not at Anne, and Gilbert could see, not romantic feelings but protective affection and, yes, he had to admit he truly did consider Anne a sister. Jerry left, carefully opening the door and closing it behind him.

‘Whatever possessed you to come in the middle of the night like this?’ Anne asked him the second Jerry was gone. Gilbert flushed, suddenly on the spotlight.

‘I just wanted to see – talk to you, without other people prying. I didn’t know of your midnight shenanigans.’

‘Because there are none,’ she said, rolling her eyes. She looked at him, his dark hair, his hazel eyes, his skin pink due to the cold cold night outside. ‘At least none yet,’ she said, squeezing his hand, but he did not engage. Was he too angry? She didn’t want him to doubt her. ‘You know I only love you like one loves a beau, right? Only you.’ She placed her hand on his chilling cheek and made sure he looked at her.

‘Yeah, I know I – the more I think about it, the more absurd the idea of you and Jerry together becomes and so I try – chase the uneasiness away and, I hate it, because I can’t help but feel—‘ he lowered his gaze, embarrassed. ‘Jealous. I feel jealous.’ _The green-eyed monster_ , Shakespeare had named jealousy, and maybe hidden and sustained by miscommunication, like Othello’s, it was; Gilbert’s, however, with his ashamed attitude and his confession, looked more like a forlorn puppy. She removed the glove covering his hand, and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles affectionately.

‘I do not blame you for feeling that way,’ she said, understandingly. ‘I’ve felt like that sometimes, too.’

‘Really?’ Her confession had made him curious. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert jealous because of him? He remembered how beautiful she’d looked at the county fair with her hair down, a flash of fire as she ran away, embarrassed, when the judges tasted liniment in her cake. She’d said something that had squeezed his heart with a little bit of hope. _I wish you two every happiness_. Unexpected, strangely unrelated to what he’d thought had caused her distress.

‘Well, when I wrote I wanted to read more about your life in Toronto, I did so because it’s true but, at the same time, I could not help but wonder who those Christine and Mary Ann were and why were you studying so late and so I hoped for more information because I know they’re getting married and it’s ridiculous and yet – my heart frets a little.’ She saw his shoulders relax a bit. ‘So, really, it’s okay. As long as you can take a step back and see how much I honestly and fervently love you.’ He exhaled heavily and looked at her again. Her hair was in a messy braid – the toss and turning of sleep must’ve undone her early night job. He hadn’t taken the time to admire her silhouette softly covered by her nightgown, and had he not been blushing already, he would’ve blushed, the immodesty of the situation getting to him.

‘I love you, too,’ he said. She grinned at him, relieved.

‘Well, you wanted to be with me away from prying eyes.’ She whispered. ‘We’re alone now.’

‘We’re alone,’ he repeated, not internalising the implications of those words. It dawned on him, after a second, and the wave of want that had filled him upon receiving her letters returned like high tide. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. Softly, calmly, no rush in her motions. She helped him out of his coat and scarf as she did so, grinning into his lips when he took off the underlying sweater before she could get to it.

‘We have to keep quiet,’ she warned, as he took off his boots and placed them orderly next to her own, by the chair. ‘Marilla is rather a light sleeper.’ _Of course she is_ , he thought. She looked at his clothes on top of hers on the chair and wondered whether that was what love was: a pile of mixed clothes folded on top of each other, resting on the same chair at the end of the day. Her feet stung with cold on the barren floor, but her chest exploded in warmth. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’ Her question left Gilbert amiss. ‘You said you wanted to talk.’

‘Right,’ he tried to think of something convincing, suddenly stifled by the fact he hadn’t really come to talk. One look in her direction, however, and words came naturally to him. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he confessed, and she knew her game was up. Her heart ached to be close to him and so, she got closer.

‘I’ve missed you more,’ she declared. Anne took his face in her hands, and found his lips, eyes closed before she touched them. He placed his hands on her waist, suddenly fuller without the constriction of a corset. The kiss grew heated before any of them noticed, and Anne was soon sliding his suspenders off his shoulders, unbuttoning his shirt with fumbling hands.

‘Allow me,’ he said, obliging slowly, teasing her impatience.

‘Do not vex me, Gilbert Blythe.’ He grinned, exposing his undershirt, which covered him roughly just as well as his shirt had done. She groaned in exasperation.

‘Just how many layers of this are there?’

He chuckled. ‘It’s cold out there,’ he said, for all explanation. ‘I can remove it, too, if that’s what you want. You are in command, Anne,’ he whispered.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she admitted.

‘Me neither,’ he took her hand in his and squeezed reassuringly, just as nervous as she. ‘But I gather we can do whatever feels good.’

‘Okay.’ She smirked and he dreaded eagerly what was to come next. He wanted whatever she would throw his way, but it made him nervous and a little fearful not to be able to comply as expected, or for it all to be more than he could handle. Her bare cleavage alone had proven quite stimulating, and the way he could _feel_ the warmth of her skin under her nightgown in that moment, why, it sent his mind down a spiral. ‘Take it off,’ she demanded, tugging at his undershirt. He arched an eyebrow, aroused at her bossiness, and did as instructed, thanking God silently he’d decided to wear a two-piece that day. He bared his torso and saw her eyes glitter in awe. He felt exposed, but in a way that did not embarrass him as much as he’d expected. No one had ever seen him like that, and he was glad it was Anne he was showing himself to. She extended a ginger hand and traced his bare skin, the muscles on his shoulders, on his chest.

‘See anything you like?’ He teased, his breaths short and irregular, trying to make it seem like he didn’t feel as open as he did. She did not reply, instead, she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze and kissed him, and he whimpered quietly, her hands on the skin of his chest, his shoulders, his back. She hummed against his lips.

‘Indeed, I have a breath-taking view.’ She said, parting from him for a second, taking off her nightgown, and Gilbert felt his mind tingle pleasantly and numbly, as he saw once again the freckles that peppered her chest and her shoulders and then – white, white everywhere the eye could see, uninterrupted by her chemise and bloomers, white all over, the sun hadn’t touched anything else. But _he_ could—or he hoped to—touch. ‘Now, we’re even.’ He smirked, her confidence stirring something in him, suddenly forgetting his shyness. He guided her towards the bed, although she hadn’t called for it, and sat on it, looking up to her, her hands in his. She followed his lead, and then went further, placing her knees on the bed at either side of him, taking his head in her hands and kissing him fervently. She took his hands and placed them once again on her chest, and he complied, eagerly. Anne sighed into his neck when he traced her breasts, giving him the signal he needed to continue what he was doing. Tentatively, he traced the skin by the hem of her chemise. ‘Yes,’ she said, looking at his face, expectant. She was plain and scrawny, she was not a classic beauty, her hair was not considered becoming by most. In that instant with Gilbert, nevertheless, she feared no rejection, she thought herself lovely, she fancied herself most alluring. And his face made her think he agreed, the way he swallowed difficultly before sliding his hand under her chemise and touching diffidently. Her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to look at him looking at her. She bit her lip, a precaution lest any sound tried to make her vocal folds vibrate. His hands were warm now, the freezing winter had left his body, and he was _touching_ her, giving her the kindle she needed. She lit up, like a bonfire. She kissed him and took one of his hands in hers and asked: ‘May I?’ He nodded; eyes wide.

‘You may.’ Consent given, she led his hand down and into her bloomers and she felt his breaths fasten, and she could hear his heart, about to explode, mimicking hers. ‘Anne.’ His voice was deep and raspy, and she decided she liked it.

‘Like this,’ she said, taking his fingers in hers and teaching him the motion. She quieted a moan on his shoulder when he got the hang of it. ‘That’s it.’ He could not believe he was there, touching her like that, left hand on her breast while he followed her directions. She looked like a goddess, in front of him, her hair a fantasy, that inner blaze she harboured that had captivated him from the first moment.

‘Anne,’ he called again, and she looked at him and he thought that that was it, there could be nothing beyond having Anne heavy breathing at his touch like she was. The blue in her eyes was a slim ring, like the one he wished to put on her finger one day. God, he wanted to see her walking in white, like the one from her current garments, down an aisle, towards him.

‘Gil—’ his hand had gotten the motion perfectly, and she could not think straight anymore. When she did it on her own, it was a wonderful feeling, but Gilbert touching her, obliging her every call – his torso was lean and his shoulders freckled, although never as much as her own, and all of his skin seemed to burn and crumble under her touch. She became pure instinct, and in that feverish haze she extended her hand and tugged at the fabric of his trousers. ‘Is it okay—’

‘Yes,’ he said a bit more impatiently than he’d intended. She chuckled, unbuttoning him, then getting her lips to his ear to murmur sweetly:

‘Show me how to,’ she asked, taking his hand on her breast in hers. He groaned at the sheer suggestion, so arousing the proposal was. She shushed him almost immediately. ‘I know it’s difficult, but you have to keep the volume down,’ she reminded him, in a flash of sudden consciousness. ‘I like to hear you like that, but I’m afraid it’ll be a while before I can make you whimper to my heart’s content.’ He smirked.

‘You sound overconfident for someone who’s just asked for directions.’

‘No one knows anything without learning it first.’ He guided her hand towards him, releasing himself, then shivering at her touch. He was warm and stiff, the feeling foreign to her but not undesirable, and his reaction was much too provocative to think it a bad idea.

‘Don’t grip it too tightly,’ he panted. Her hold loosened just enough. ‘Yeah, like that and—’ he stifled a moan. He instilled the pace in her, the swift rocking, not too rushed to hurt him, not too slow to become monotonous. ‘Oh, don’t – don’t stop,’ he seemed lost in the feeling, and before she could smile proudly, he had refocused on her and her entire body tingled, mind and soul, and she began losing herself in the motion, rocking her hips in the same tempo she stroked him. ‘Anne.’ He explored her entrance with an errant finger, and she made a muffled sound in surprise. ‘May I?’

‘Please,’ she said, unaware of what would happen, but she felt it in her a second afterwards, and a whimper of surprise escaped her. ‘Sorry,’ she bit her lip, and he began moving his middle finger in and out of her, and –

‘Anne, I – that’s enough or—’ but she did not stop, stubborn as she was, and he deadened a groan on her shoulder, as she felt him twitch erratically in her hand – a substance smeared her hand and arm. He froze, but she urged him on.

‘Don’t stop now, I’m very close,’ she ordered him, and her demand shook him from embarrassment back into the task at hand. ‘That’s more like it,’ she gasped. The way he’d trembled under her touch, his breath on her shoulder, had almost done it and so, it was not long before she silenced herself in his lips, shaking. ‘You learn quickly,’ she beckoned him, a tired smile on her face.

‘Right back at you,’ he tittered. ‘You didn’t have to continue,’ he took her messy hand on his, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it carefully. ‘It couldn’t have been pleasant.’

‘On the contrary, I very much enjoyed seeing you like that,’ she said. ‘You know I’m an overachiever, I couldn’t leave the job half-done.’

He kissed her then clean hand. ‘You did a great job, indeed.’ He pulled her into a hug, feeling her thin frame, taking in her sent, that moment.

‘I love you, Gil,’ the flush on his cheeks deepened, suddenly shy to hear his name said like that once the heat of the moment was over. Still, he peppered the soft and exposed skin of her shoulders with absent-minded kisses.

‘I love you, too.’ After a second, he broke the hug to look at her. She was a paint in red and his heart ached with how much he felt for her.

‘I can’t believe they’ve told us all these years our bodies are sinful and shameful,’ she said as she traced his chest distractedly. ‘I could’ve never imagined, and my imagination is exceedingly capable, an act more… more…’ she struggled to find the words.

‘Celestial? Heavenly?’ He provided.

‘Yes, heavenly. I see galaxies, with you, Gil, I see the universe, the genesis of everything...’ he chuckled.

‘I’m glad you think so. I quite agree.’ As the minutes passed, drowsiness came over them with the chill of the night. ‘I don’t want to leave,’ he said.

‘One day you won’t have to,’ she smiled. ‘But, for now, this is all we get.’ He nodded in response, picking up his clothes from where he’d left them. She looked at the night sky out her window as he dressed, and a particularly bright star caught her eye. ‘Is that Sirius?’

Gilbert smiled, remembering his last letter. He looked in the direction she was looking and the same star caught his eye. ‘I believe it is.’

‘You were right, _Canis Major_ does give me such a thrill.’ She looked at him, bathed in moonlight, and he kissed her cheek.

‘I’m glad to have known,’ he grinned. ‘Makes me feel I know you so.’ The look in her eyes felt to him like a confirmation.

‘This was superb and all, but I don’t think it would be safe if you came every night.’

‘I know. It might be suspicious if you and I suddenly began to wake up every morning poorly-rested, simultaneously.’ She giggled in response.

‘Why, I feel like I will have the most restful sleep I’ve had in years.’

‘You’re not helping to dissuade me from coming back.’

‘Right… a part of me feels like I won’t sleep a wink, the excitement in my heart is much too immense,’ she corrected herself. ‘If you stayed, perhaps, I would be able to sleep. Imagine we fell asleep afterwards, however. We’d be in a lot of trouble.’

‘Right. Propriety.’ He kissed her cheek, then opened the window. She extended her hands, to aid him on his way out.

‘Is that the barn’s ladder?’ She asked, before he could descend.

‘I guessed, being asleep, Matthew wouldn’t miss it.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘I can’t believe you.’

‘You still love me.’

‘Tragically,’ she teased, kissing his forehead before he descended and disappeared into the night. She braced herself for a moment. Love was more than she thought it could be, and she relished in the bubbly awareness of feeling loved. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that Gilbert Blythe had done something so stupid just for her. It warmed her soul.

. . .

‘You have got to stop avoiding dinners at the Cuthberts’,’ Bash declared, Delly fussing in his arms.

‘I can’t go, you know that,’ Elijah replied, sticking a potato in his mouth, looking at Delly make bubbles with her drool out of the corner of his eye. Hazel was such a good cook, were it not out of respect for his late mother, he would’ve admitted it sometimes surpassed Mary’s cooking. And Mary’s cooking had already been sublime.

‘I don’t _know_ that. Marilla asks about you every time we go over.’

‘It’s true,’ Gilbert pointed out. He wolfed down his food avidly for someone as skinny as he was. Where did all that food go? He wasn’t working in the farm no more, and instead of gaining weight, it seemed as though the loss of muscle mass was the only thing that had happened to him, making him look _skinnier_. He could see why Bash teased him so much.

‘You should eat another plate,’ Hazel told Gilbert, as if reading Elijah’s thoughts, extending her hand to receive Gilbert’s empty plate.

‘Thank you, Hazel.’

‘The Cuthberts were here to help your mother and I when Delly was born. They were here to give your mother a beautiful Easter celebration before she died. They were here to help with her funeral, and they were here to help raise Delly before I wrote to my mother. They are family, if I’ve ever known family.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Hazel, who’d warmed up to Marilla and Matthew sooner than she’d expected. They were the good sort of white people, which she hadn’t even known existed. Hardworking and quiet, proper and good-natured. Their daughter was a bewildering sort, but there was no disliking her: not only was Gilbert courting her, but in her own extravagant way, she grew on her, even though Hazel had _truly_ tried to keep her at arm’s length.

‘Plus, if Gilbert has his way, in a couple years there’ll be more than spirit making us a family.’ Gilbert flushed a little, but there was not denying it. He knew he’d be proposing the second Anne’s studies were over.

‘But I’m not like them, I’m not like _you_. I don’t fit in. I don’t trust white folks, and they don’t trust me. And they know – they _must_ know because of _me_ – Mary’s wound—’ Bash shook his head at his words.

‘You said you would be part of this family, when I told you you could stay. You said you’d be a brother to Delly, and that means being an active part of this family. Being an active part of this family means swallowing your wounded pride and attending dinners for important holidays, such as Christmas, which is tonight.’ The stove irradiated a loving warmth, a reminder of better—or at least past—days. It was the stove John had used to cook soups and stews for Gilbert before he’d fallen ill – he was not a good cook, but he was not as terrible as his son, and Gilbert remembered the meals with fondness. It was the stove Mrs. Kincannon had used to cook their Sunday meals, the only day a week Gilbert allowed his father to sit at the table, and they would eat and talk, the prodigal sons, the last days, more often than not, about Gilbert’s intriguing new classmate: an irascible redhead with a passionate mind. It was the stove where Bash had cooked, with more talent than his brother, when they were just settling and getting through the motions of learning to live together and work the land. It was the stove Mary had used to turn that cold house into an inviting home once again; she’d filled the space and their lives with spices and flavour and colour and love… she’d renewed it.

In that stove of love had Marilla and Rachel, and oftentimes, Anne, cooked and baked for them. In that stove had Hazel learnt to enjoy life and her son and her granddaughter a little more, and fear white folks and strangers and life a little less. And it was that stove’s heat that permeated Elijah’s heart as he swallowed a bite and nodded solemnly.

‘Alright. I’ll go.’

. . .

The Lyndes’ home was almost dreary that Christmas Eve. Rachel’s often giggly ways were a little more solemn, and her husband’s jolly and unaffected nature had become tired and slow. There was something unspeakably sad in watching a loved one whither its way into Heaven. Sudden deaths were, perhaps, more tragic and maybe even more painful, but there was something uniquely sad to see a person lose its identifying characteristics and little by little turn into but a shell of the person they were. Thomas Lynde did his best to keep a smile throughout the meal, but his wife was not fooled. Ten children they had raised together, and they were so good a team that, by then, there was no use to pretend. It was no saying – the saying was ridiculous anyway, who knows the back their hand so well? But yes, they did know each other better than the back of their hands. Hands they loved so well on each other.

‘Do you suppose we’ll get another Christmas?’ Rachel asked, as if she were talking about the weather.

‘I suppose we might not,’ Thomas replied, smiling apologetically. They had been invited to dine over at the Barrys’ and at the Cuthberts’, but they’d declined both invitations. They needed that moment alone, the wood crackling in the stove, the eggnog but barely half of the huge jar Rachel had once used to feed twelve. Rachel nodded like she’d been informed a new meeting had been scheduled for the board of trustees. Thomas took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, love.’

At his words and touch, Rachel could hold it in no longer, and a sob escaped her lips. She held her loved one’s hand tightly and cried bitterly. Whatever would she do without her beloved Thomas. He was her companion and her joy. She’d lived longer by his side than on her own, who was she if not a half of the two of them? At least she felt like it at that moment, he and she and nothing but white snow outside.


	16. Your Fair Partner Does Not Disgrace You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked really hard on this chapter so I hope you excuse it took me longer than usual to post but I just had to make sure I didn't mess up, you'll see what I mean. Thank you so so much for the positive comments, you're all the best!

Jerry was gone to spend Christmas Eve with his family, so it was back to the Cuthberts’ nucleus, although Jerry had quickly become one of them – perhaps he’d always been a part of them? And they found themselves missing him as they set the table and lit the candles. Marilla had baked plum puffs and Anne had cooked one of Mary’s crab stews. Gingerbread cookies rested in a basket, and the eggnog was being poured into a more occasion-appropriate jug. Anne and Matthew missed Jerry especially, mentioning how he would’ve looked at the basket of cookies longingly, not daring to steal one but practically begging to be allowed to take one before supper. He’d taken his Christmas present with a jolly smile: a batch of scones Marilla had baked, and a bonus to his wages from Matthew.

The knock on the door came earlier than they’d told the Lacroix-Blythes to come, but they had more or less expected it, Hazel—and Mary before her—were not in the business of letting other people do all the work, and so they made it a point to be “accidentally” early. Marilla opened the door and Anne took their coats, Matthew greeting them into the parlour.

‘Elijah!’ Anne exclaimed when the man appeared before her. ‘It’s so good to finally have you over!’ Once again, Gilbert stood on the side waiting for his turn to be acknowledged by his sweetheart, who seemed perennially destined to get distracted by people other than him.

Elijah was refreshed by Anne’s easily excitable personality. He’d met her before, of course, but he was usually working when she was over and, when he wasn’t, he usually avoided guests as a general rule. She seemed either unaware or unburdened by his past and history, and her hug was warm and loving. It, weirdly, reminded him of his mother’s hugs. Anne’s affection was sincere and unrestrained, she held no grudges – at least towards him, and her joy was exuberant, her smile open and warm. He hugged her back, a little longer that might’ve been deemed proper, but the similarity to his mother’s embrace betrayed his general guardedness, his instincts taking over as he realised just how much he’d been missing a hug like that one. How much he’d been needing his mother’s hug once again. Anne’s hearty laugh resounded in his ears like that of a sister as they parted. ‘I’m glad you, too, are happy to see me,’ she said for all comment on how into the hug he’d been, no nastiness, no hidden cruel remarks in it.

‘It is, indeed, good to see you, Anne.’ He turned to greet Marilla, and Gilbert got his hug from Anne then, interrupted by Bash and Muriel behind them, when it took longer than two seconds.

‘That’s enough, I hope for Delly to be the only baby around these parts for years to come,’ Bash teased.

‘This is not how babies are made,’ Anne pointed out, matter-of-factly, annoyed at the patronising attitude people took when it came to ensure Gilbert and she were being proper.

‘How _would_ you know how babies are made, Anne?” Muriel asked, estranged, and Anne flushed, followed by Gilbert, Matthew, and Marilla, all suddenly abashed by the topic of conversation.

‘Well I just – logic, right? I’ve hugged many a person in my life, it cannot be how babies are made, you yourself said it wasn’t topical.’ She explained clumsily, quick on her feet as usual, Fibbing McFibster, like Diana had called her. Muriel spared her a curious look but did not inquire further, much to the relief of their hosts.

‘This is enough talk about babies,’ Marilla announced. ‘Shall we move onto the kitchen, Hazel? I’m sure you carry some things that might still need a bit of cooking.’

‘Yes, I think we should just focus on the present baby,’ Matthew agreed, taking Delly from Muriel’s arms. Gilbert and Anne dawdled by the foyer, just for a second, all too aware if they took too long another embarrassing scene could unfold.

‘That was close,’ Gilbert pointed out.

‘Too close,’ she recognised. ‘I cannot stop thinking about last night, though.’ She added shortly after.

‘Me neither.’

‘Still, we should be careful.’

‘Careful it is,’ he said, taking her hand and leading them into the parlour, where all but Marilla and Hazel sat. There was something tender and beautiful about the scene unfolding before them. Elijah and Matthew were taking turns to make faces at Delly, while Bash and Muriel whispered secretively to each other. The candles on the Christmas tree flickered like the wishes made upon a dandelion. It felt like family, which was nothing short of a miracle to both their hearts. The two of them had feared at some point—or two—that they would never feel or see the amber of a home that is filled with love, and yet they stood before it, unconsciously stopping for a second to admire and register the moment.

They walked to the far end of the room and sat by the tree, the rest of the seats occupied, not daring to disturb the organic nature of the scene. On the carpet, they contented themselves with the warmth of each other’s hand, while they stole silent but caring glances. The idea of having feelings for Gilbert Blythe had infuriated her at first, because why Gilbert Blythe out of all men in the world? But of course it had to be him, she understood, sitting there by his side. Only he challenged her enough to be an equal, only he could understand the simple winsomeness of a Christmas dinner with family and friends come from many different places. It had made her angry because they were so alike. Indeed, Gilbert was, on his turn, thinking of the very same thing, the vexing confusion that arose within him as the feelings he’d regarded as nothing but fancy became more complex, convoluting to everything he thought was set at the moment. He’d been smitten with her since forever but love – love had come at what he’d thought was a time so inconvenient. Her warm hand in his, however, why, it was the most convenient thing there could ever be, nevermind his initial irascible confusion.

‘I got you a little something,’ he murmured, trying to keep a semblance of privacy in the busy room. He lifted the book wrapped in brown paper he'd been carrying since he'd entered. It was not unlike the present he’d given her a couple years back, albeit bigger. He saw Anne’s expression blossom with her characteristic curiosity, and a smirk crept onto his lips.

‘I got you a little something, too.’ Only God knew how Anne Shirley-Cuthbert had come across enough money to buy him anything – perhaps she’d crafted it? The little package was charming and carefully wrapped, like anything and everything Anne’s skilful and loving hands touched. Holly leaves and their striking red fruits adorned the package in a metaphorical reminder of the woman before him, her green dress and red hair turned into the seasonal shrub.

‘Thank you,’ he said, receiving it as she set her gift with the other few small packages that lay under the tree. Before she could say anything in return, Hazel’s voice was calling them into the dining room.

The feast had nothing to envy whatever preparation Edward Oak was serving Emily that Christmas Eve, Gilbert thought. There was meat pie, and Brussels sprouts, and mashed potatoes with cranberry sauce, and gravy. There was crab stew and Hazel’s acclaimed Christmas rice. Plum puffs and gingerbread and paime comprised the dessert options. The Cuthberts had never served so much food, lest it be a waste, but the growing number of diners and Hazel’s outlook that there should be no shortage of food on the night the Lord was born had been gradually turning the tide towards abundance. There was no food left when all was said and done, much to Marilla’s relief – although she later worried whether they had indulged in gluttony. While everyone drank their eggnog and ate their dessert of choice, Bash took it upon himself to clear his throat and centre their attention on him.

‘Well,’ Muriel spoke, her voice a little uncertain at first. ‘I think this is as good an occasion as any to announce Bash and I are engaged.’ She raised her hand with a ring that had not been there before: she’d clearly hidden it until the right time. ‘We expect to get married over the summer, when Gilbert’s back from Toronto.’ Her countenance was mildly nervous, but her smile was wide and her eyes shone with the sparkle of love, true love in them. A general gasp of joy went around the table, save for a contemptuous “hmph” uttered by Hazel.

‘We know the news may come as a surprise, but we are very happy and expect you to welcome the news with joy for us,’ Bash added, his smile betraying the seriousness he was trying to convey.

‘Bash, these are wonderful news!’ Gilbert exclaimed.

‘My, what excellent news,’ Marilla interjected as well. ‘I’m very happy for the two of you.’

‘Oh! These news are perfectly scrumptious!’ Anne squealed of joy. ‘Miss Stacy to be a part of our family! Why, I can’t think of anything that could bring me more bliss than this, I could die of thrill right now!’ There was a general giggle at Anne’s most characteristic reaction.

‘I think it’s high time you called me Muriel, Anne,’ she pointed out. ‘Seeing as how the “Stacy” part is bound to change soon enough and all.’

‘I still think it’s foolhardy,’ Hazel complained. ‘But I can see now there’s very little I can say to make you listen to reason.’

‘It is not the first time we defy the small-mindedness of those around us, nor will it be the last time,’ Bash replied.

‘I imagine it cannot have been easy to find each other,’ Matthew commented, ‘so this sort of events should be fully celebrated.’ He held up his glass, and Elijah followed suit.

‘To the happy couple,’ he toasted. ‘May they have a long and happy life together.’ Everyone rose their glass.

‘To Bash and Muriel!’ They chanted and, as if joining in the cheer, Delly laughed along with everyone, delighted at the general good spirits about her.

When dinner was over, people began making their way back to the parlour for a last chat by the fire before leaving. As Marilla, Hazel, and Anne rose to take care of the dishes, Matthew promptly took Gilbert aside to the kitchen, away from curious ears. Matthew was a gentle sort, but words always seemed to escape him, Gilbert had noticed, as they usually came out all clumsily and entangled. This was no exception.

‘Gilbert, you – Anne – I. I have a little something for you.’ Gilbert raised his eyebrows, surprised. He’d expected something akin to a talk-down, not a present. It wouldn’t have been much like Matthew Cuthbert, but the “if you break my daughter’s heart I’ll break _you_ ” was a cliché with good reason.

‘Oh, Mr. Cuthbert, you shouldn’t have,’ Gilbert saw him dismiss his words with a wave of his hand.

‘I think it’s okay now – Matthew is alright.’ He produced a small wooden box out of his pocket, simple yet elegant in its lack of flourishes. ‘Now, these are not a present for right now. I don’t mean to burden you in any manner, but I gather you may need them some day, and I – it’s uncertain whether I’ll be there to see you use them. I want you – I want Anne to have them.’ He opened the box, and a pair of wedding bands rested in it. ‘They were my parents’ and then mine if I had ever – now they’re yours.’ The air got caught in Gilbert’s throat. The honour was so immense he did not quite know what to say. His heart melted at the idea of putting one of those rings on Anne’s finger and her putting the other on his, and the level of trust that was being implied by handing him an heirloom like that… it gave him an entirely new outlook on Matthew Cuthbert.

‘Thank you so much, Matthew.’ He took the box gingerly, inspecting the rings curiously and considerately. ‘But I truly hope and expect you to be there if the Lord and Anne see fit to put them to use.’

‘I can only pray I will,’ Matthew said, though he did not seem convinced, Gilbert noted. ‘Now, I don’t want Anne thinking I’m meddling in her affairs or putting any unwelcome pressure on you so I’d appreciate it if…’ he took a pause to look at his daughter laughing heartily while she helped at the sink. ‘You kept this conversation secret until you have a need for these.’ He pointed to the box Gilbert held, and Gilbert grinned.

‘Of course, Matthew.’ Gilbert chuckled. ‘And don’t worry, God knows the pressure is on getting her to consent, not in asking her to marry me.’

‘I don’t presume to know the contents of my daughter’s heart in their entirety… but I suspect you have a good standing in it.’

‘Here’s hoping.’

. . .

Anne sat on her bed on her own after the guests had left. She finally had some privacy, Jerry gone for the day and all. She’d refused to open Gilbert’s gift with Matthew and Marilla present. Not that she felt it was embarrassing or possibly indecorous, but she rather wanted the moment to be exclusively hers, she did not want to share the first few seconds in the company of Gilbert’s present with anyone. She unwrapped it carefully, and the package gave way to a beautifully bound tome: an anthology of Emily Dickinson’s poems. Her hands trembled as she perused its many poems. “Wild nights should be / Our luxury!” She read the lines and thought, perhaps, she would not be able to sleep that night, as she simply _had_ to read and re-read the poems until they were seared into her mind. And when she thought she could not love Gilbert any more, she looked at the first page:

> _I cannot presume to best Dickinson in her own book of all places but, if I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying:_
> 
> _The sky and sea they beg for truth_
> 
> _For mercy, they’ve been robbed_
> 
> _Of blue, true blue, God’s first, their youth_
> 
> _Their sorrow’s softly sobbed_
> 
> _The soil, the sun, even the blooms_
> 
> _They pale each passing day_
> 
> _They envy the owner of heirlooms_
> 
> _They once used to display_
> 
> _The bandit swift and skilful is,_
> 
> _There’s more she’s stolen now_
> 
> _My heart, my love, just like a whiz_
> 
> _To take me, I'll allow  
> _
> 
> _—Gilbert._

Anne stifled a moved sob in her lips. She’d never hoped to ever be the recipient of such words. She’d read much about romance and poetry and dark heroes but, in truth, Gilbert’s love was all the more vivid. Far from the made up phrases and the clichés his love felt _real_ and it was more touching than any other demonstration of love she could’ve received. Plus, she thought smiling proudly, it was much better written than Paul’s poem. Albeit Paul’s sentiment had been admirable and true enough, neither his grammar and spelling nor his style could compete with Gilbert’s. She read it again. She recited it quietly, and she recited it again and again until she fell asleep without noticing, mumbling the words as consciousness left her.

. . .

He waited to open the package until he was upstairs, although he’d suspected Bash much too absorbed into his recently announced engagement to pay him any mind. The holly leaves and their fruits gave him a weird feeling, one he’d developed over the years whenever he saw anything Anne had crafted. She had such a way to embellish things, in a manner that was whimsical and loving of nature and very much hers. Underneath the leaves and the paper there was a soft fabric protecting a fountain pen. It was not _her_ fountain pen, but one quite like it. A small note was wrapped around it.

> _I hope you get to write more joys than sorrows with this pen, but do know I’ll be there for you through all of them._
> 
> _—Anne._

He admired the seemingly mundane object. God, he wanted so bad to hug her and thank her in person. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was the best when it came to giving gifts.

. . .

Town hall was pitch black for the beginning scene of that year’s Christmas Panto, and Gilbert took advantage of the dark to bring Anne’s hand to his lips.

‘I very much liked your present,’ he whispered, hearing how her breath got caught in her throat at his contact, their recent encounter all too vivid a memory in the nucleus of her cells.

‘I loved yours,’ she replied, ‘you’re scrumptious.’ She felt his lips on hers and slapped his knee in protest, not before kissing him back for the briefest moment, a light in the theatre flickering on after they parted as if by act of magic – or presence of God, Rachel would've argued.

‘Ouch,’ he complained.

‘That’ll teach you not to try our luck in such a public place,’ she murmured in the quietest tone, but it was enough for him to understand, her murderous look a very helpful aid to give sense to the words that could’ve escaped him. She took his hand a moment after, and he knew she was only looking out for them, and her heart wasn’t in it when she’d reprimanded him. Rachel would’ve made them out for sure, if she weren’t otherwise engaged, Gilbert had to admit to himself. He’d made a move a tad too bold.

They turned their attention to the stage, where a single family walked in pitch darkness, carrying the light that had almost uncovered them. They stumbled upon the stage, boys and girls that Anne had seen at school but whose names she never learnt, but the lamp was carried by Minnie May.

‘The poem alone was much too exquisite,’ Anne said, as the curtains drew for a change of backdrop. ‘The book was the cherry on top.’

‘I’m glad you liked it, I was scared professor Thomas had given you a literary perspective that would shred it to pieces,’ he confessed.

Anne giggled. ‘Not at all. I believe there’s little you could write that could be deemed unseemly by my professor. He tolerates much worse if you’re a man.’

‘I can’t tell whether that’s a compliment or not,’ he chuckled. Their conversation was interrupted by the drawing of the curtains. The light the travellers carried seemed too small for their journey, but they settled in an island after a trying voyage at sea. Having found safe haven, their community, and it turn the flame, began to grow. Rain tried to put out the flame, but they gave it shelter. Ill-intentioned visitors tried to put out the flame, but they protected it. Then came the minister, dressed as a snake, and tried to pin them against each other. The light began to dwindle and dwindle until at last Minnie May—the girl—told everyone that together they were stronger than divided by petty fights and prejudice. The flame grew in their unity and vanquished the traitorous snake. Everyone cheered, and the lights of the hall were lit one by one by students awaiting the signal. Anne cried.

‘Anne, are you okay?’ Marilla asked, looking at her daughter in tears. Matthew turned to look at her too, alarmed.

‘It’s just so beautiful, Marilla.’ She explained. ‘Mrs. Lynde and Muriel have truly outdone themselves, I’m not even disappointed there weren’t any knights.’ Her parents smiled, relieved, and Gilbert squeezed her hand gently, a shiny path on his cheek betraying his cool, showing he, too, had been moved by that year’s Christmas Panto.

‘That they have,’ Matthew agreed.

‘It’s too bad Thomas couldn’t be here tonight,’ Marilla pointed out.

‘We’ll have to re-enact it most faithfully for him, then.’ Anne proposed.

‘That’s a great idea, Anne,’ Gilbert said with a warm smile.

. . .

The day was sunny and as non-cold as Canadian winter allowed for. The icicles that hung from the trees shone a rainbow over the world, turning the empty white into a colourful picture under which Anne ran excitedly, doing her best not to be seen by some curious neighbour. Matthew had given her a pair of skates, much to Marilla’s dismay, and she’d lost no time to try them. As it usually happened when Marilla hoped for her to stay away from a certain activity, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was a natural. She hoped to get a spin in before or after the match. The gals and their beaus were supposed to meet in the nearby pond to watch the men during a friendly hockey match and later have tea at Diana’s, and it was in the direction of the pond Anne ran with as much care as she could muster—which was not much—for her hairdo, holding a bag with her skates, excitedly.

Diana awaited by the pond with Ruby and Moody, all of them waving enthusiastically in her direction, Josie and Jane coming into the picture from the direction of their respective homes as Anne approached. Soon appeared Tillie and Paul and the picture was full when Gilbert finally appeared running towards Anne.

‘Sorry, had to help out before coming here and I ran a little late,’ he explained. The truth was that he’d gotten distracted by Delly’s crawling and babbling, but he would rather keep that information from the teasing minds about him. Anne gave him a loving kiss when he reached her and they laughed when they heard the nervous laughs and the whistling and the “ow”s and “ew”s from their friends.

‘I bet you just couldn’t leave Delly alone,’ Anne told him under her breath.

His mouth opened with fake affront, but the curve of his lips told her she was right. ‘I did no such thing.’

‘You did, too.’ She took a good look at him with an appreciative glint in her eyes, a roguish grin on her lips. ‘You look handsome today.’

‘Just today?’ He asked, baffled. Their little conversation, cute as it was, was interrupted by Josie clearing her throat.

‘It’s freezing here, could you two stop being mawkish for a second so we can get to the matter at hand?’ They turned to see Paul and Moody exchanging ideas defeatedly, and the ladies pensive, crossed-armed.

‘No need to be mean, Josie,’ Diana said, giving her a disapproving look.

‘Moody forgot to invite more people to play the game,’ Ruby explained. ‘It’s impossible for you to have a match with only three players.’

‘It’ll be best if we just get on to Diana’s,’ Jane pointed out.

‘Oh, but I so wanted to see Paul play,’ Tillie complained.

‘I can play!’ Anne exclaimed, lifting her bag with the skates. ‘I got skates from Matthew this Christmas.’

‘Playing hockey is not for ladies,’ Josie pointed out.

‘I’m sorry Anne, but I would be much too afraid to go against a girl,’ Paul added, ‘what if I hit you by accident and you cry? Can’t risk it.’

‘Yeah, no offence, but hockey’s rough,’ Moody agreed.

‘Do you think so, too?’ Anne asked, looking at Gilbert. He knew in that instant that saying anything that could be interpreted as unsupportive would be his doom.

‘I think it matters very little whether I think if you’re capable or not which, for the record, I do, but what Marilla would have to say about this.’ Anne glared at him all the same, and he did his best to smile apologetically.

‘I’ll make you all eat your words.’ She sat on the snow and put on her skates. ‘Moody, do you have an extra stick?’

‘I – I do, I brought my old one in case anyone forgot theirs but—‘

‘Very well, we’ll be playing on the same team,’ she declared. Moody nodded, not wanting to cross Ruby for denying her friend, and much too scared of Anne to contradict her. ‘Paul, Gilbert, are you on? Or are you scared to lose to a woman?’ They looked at each other uncomfortably, knowing they could not turn down the match. They sat down and put on their skates, resigned.

‘Oh, how thrilling,’ Ruby exclaimed, forgetting herself.

‘This is stupid, Anne’ll just get herself hit with a stick,’ Josie declared.

‘I have to admit it’s rather risky,’ Jane conceded.

‘Anne, are you sure about this?’ Diana inquired, her voice lowered.

‘I’ll show them we are just as capable of playing as they are,’ she replied, and Diana nodded, supportively. Anne then turned to Moody. ‘Alright, I need to know the rules.’

‘You don’t know how to play?’ He asked, speechless, not daring to yell lest he further exposed the weakness of his team.

‘I have a general idea; I _have_ seen you guys play countless times. I just need a quick refresher; it cannot be that difficult.’

Moody sighed pliantly. ‘Alright.’

Teams set, skates on, and rules reviewed, the four of them stepped onto the ice. Moody was a good player, that much Gilbert and Paul knew already. Exactly what could they expect from Anne was a mystery, although Gilbert had tried to warn Paul that underestimating her was a mistake. The safe side was not assuming Anne would weigh Moody down, but quite the contrary. Still, she could not be _that_ good, Gilbert thought, she’d only learnt to skate two days before.

Anne’s start was weak at best. The boys scored twice in the span of a couple minutes, slowed down only by Paul’s reluctance to go toe to toe with Anne, worried he’d hit her by accident. Gilbert knew better than letting Anne win or to go easy on her – it had been a risky move when he’d done so at the spelling bee years ago and, in retrospective, he suspected he’d only gotten away with it because Anne had not been feeling all that well. Thus, he was playing just as well as he would in any other occasion. He would beat her fair and square. Anne did not shy away from their ruthless playing, albeit Moody’s spirits were getting lower and lower as the match progressed. He should’ve opposed Anne when she decided he’d be on her team, he thought. She should’ve teamed up with Gilbert, _he_ should be putting up with her stubbornness, she was his sweetheart after all and – Anne blocked what would’ve otherwise been another score against them. Slowly, but surely, the tide was turned. As Anne got the hang of the game better and got more accustomed to the ice and the skates and the stick, she became a more reliable teammate, and soon she was sending the disk Moody’s way so he could score. Ten minutes later, they were tied. Paul was visibly annoyed, and Gilbert had begun to break a sweat. _What on Earth_. Anne was far from being a formidable player, but she and Moody played very well together. Her mind was quick and her eyes alert, and she communicated easily with Moody, something Gilbert and Paul lacked completely. On top of it all, Anne _trusted_ Moody and, as she got more used to the dynamic of the game, Moody began to trust her in return, making them a mighty team. By the time the game was over, Anne was laughing and hugging Moody, victorious. Paul’s humour was dampened, much to Tillie’s misfortune, and Gilbert had to approach Anne with a humble smile and an open hand to shake on his defeat.

‘I could’ve been in your team, had you backed me up.’ Anne pointed out.

‘You won fair and square,’ he admitted. ‘You proved your point. Still, before leaving Diana’s, you should fix your hair or Marilla will know you’ve been up to no good.’

‘Right, thanks.’ She smiled, and then began to make her way towards Diana.

‘What? We’re not walking together?’ Gilbert asked.

‘I don’t walk with losers!’ She yelled, giggly, and shrieked in laughter when he feigned to take offence and ran after her, picking her off the ground under their friends’ diverted gazes.

‘Need I remind you this loser’s your beau?’

‘My bad,’ she chuckled. ‘Perhaps I should’ve picked someone more athletic.’ So she said, but she laughed all the same at Gilbert’s incredulous expression, and kissed his cheek tenderly to end their little bit.

A little ways behind, Moody walked smugly by Ruby’s side.

‘You looked so attractive when you scored!’ Ruby confessed, dreamily.

‘I think I deserve a prize,’ Moody suggested. ‘I mean, since I won.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Ruby said, thoughtfully. ‘Alright,’ she said before giving him a quick peck on the lips. She immediately run after her friends, embarrassed and excited at her boldness, laughing nervously when she reached Diana and the fuss Anne and Gilbert were causing. Moody didn’t mind, he was in a world of his own, woolly after the kiss.

. . .

New Year’s was scarcely and austerely celebrated by the townsfolk of Avonlea. Anne had always felt a new year came with so many possibilities it was but a missed opportunity not to at least wish for the many hopes she harboured for each new year in her life. Matthew and Marilla did not mind her little tradition of writing a wish for the upcoming year and keeping it in a hidden drawer until the following New Year’s Eve and opening it to discover whether or not it had become true. Marilla and Matthew always wrote sensible things which almost always came true, and although she had once wished for her hair to become auburn, the restriction of it being a wish for something to happen solely during the span of the upcoming year usually made her wishes a little more down-to-Earth. She had invited Gilbert over for their little New Year’s Eve dinner, nothing nearly as grand or fancy as Christmas, and yet, perhaps, even more intimate and personal.

Gilbert, getting ready to leave for Green Gables, found his shirt was missing a button. He went downstairs to see if Hazel had one that was not too different from the others. Bash was feeding Delly with never-ending patience: now she’d grown, she’d developed quite the habit of spitting food back simply out of entertainment – or at least so it appeared to be the case.

‘Have you seen Hazel? I was wondering whether she’d have a spare button?’

‘She left to get miss Marilla the list of things we need from the general store.’ Bash looked up and saw the shirt Gilbert held, fairly serene. ‘I would’ve thought a missing button would’ve made you discard the shirt altogether.’

‘Well, it does not seem very practical or very sensible,’ Gilbert replied, confused by Bash’s sudden wasteful attitude.

‘I meant, as an option. I recall not long ago you tried on every single shirt you owned just to make sure you were wearing the right one.’

Gilbert rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not like that with Anne. I don’t feel quite as… inadequate.’

‘I’m still waiting for you to begin sprouting posies again.’

‘You barely tolerate my singing.’

‘And yet, for Anne, I would almost enjoy it.’

‘Tease all you like.’ Bash raised his brow, defiantly, and Gilbert began to wonder whether he could take all the teasing Bash could unleash on him. ‘If you must know, there was singing, and Kitt didn’t mind it. And I am nervous, but… for different reasons. I don’t fret wondering whether I’m wearing the right clothes or if my feelings are mistaken.’ He awaited some teasing remark from Bash and, when it didn’t come, he continued. ‘I am nervous, however, about the time we’re apart, I’m nervous with anticipation when I’m going to see her, and I am dead nervous about misspelling any words in my letters. She wouldn’t let me live it down. She’s still sceptical about my previous “mistakes”.’

‘There’s a button in that box over there that might be of use.’ Bash said, nodding towards the pantry. ‘You should invite that Kitt fellow over sometime. I’d love to hear his take on the singing, face to face.’

‘Wouldn’t you just.’ Gilbert found a button that would do, along with some others and needle and thread. He set himself to it. He was not a very good cook, but sewing buttons was not something he was disastrous at. Whenever he mended clothes, he thought of how it would be different to put stitches on someone, and somehow the chore became almost enjoyable. He had to give it to Anne, there was indeed a plethora of things that could be improved upon by the imagination. ‘If that’s your only motivation, I wouldn’t think it very likely.’

‘I just find your infatuated and dreamy self rather entertaining. Days do become rather monotonous around here, sometimes.’ Gilbert shook his head disapprovingly but smiled all the same.

‘That’s why you should treasure your little one here,’ he said, looking at Delly, struggling against the spoon. ‘She challenges you to keep you from tediousness.’ He then set his eyes on Bash, amused. ‘Plus, soon you’ll have Muriel to spice up your monotonous days.’

‘That time is certain to be far from invariable, that much is true.’ His tone made Gilbert recognise a dash of worry in him.

‘It’ll be alright, Bash. I can go fetch another shirt and ask you for your opinion on it if it’ll make you take your mind off your reluctances.’ His suggestion made Bash chuckle.

‘I appreciate it, but I must admit I like seeing you so confident about Anne. That is one wedding I’ll love to attend.’

‘You’re getting ahead of yourself. It’ll be years before we get there, _if_ she agrees to marry me.’

‘It’s true, she could do better.’

‘Now you’re just being mean.’

Bash snickered. ‘I’m only honest. You know I’ve always found you too skinny. How she tolerates so little frame to support her on your walks is truly disconcerting.’ He saw Gilbert cut the thread with in one swift pull.

‘Alright, that’s enough, now I’m leaving. No more of my charming presence for you.’ He said as he stood up and made his way out of the kitchen.

‘You’re not that charming!’ Bash contradicted him.

‘People have called my company a siren song! That’s how charming I am!’ He yelled as he went up the stairs. The two of them were smiling broadly in spite of themselves, as they loved each other so. Gilbert found himself missing Bash’s remarks when he was away, and it his pestering was a welcome interaction when he was home.

. . .

He was sitting on the lonely and cold stone bench like he’d done repeatedly before. The white that seemed often so serene attacked his eyes with the reflection of the sun rays, like an assault to his sight. Perchance it was a cleansing ray so he could see better in the future. He felt like he’d sat by the graveyard more times than it could be deemed appropriate for his young age. Then again, people did die rather frequently everywhere in the world, and it did not seem to have a greater impact on the lives of others. To him, however, it sometimes felt like the pacing of his life was given by loss: his mother, the moment he was born; his father, to signal childhood was gone. Mary, to be reminded life was what he wanted to keep around him as much as he could, fight the unknown evils that took lives to God too soon.

An unexpected shadow interrupted his thoughts, and he turned with curiosity: it wasn’t often that he met people by his father’s grave. Marilla, Bash, Delly, and Elijah were the only ones he could think of that had visited of late, and he thought of no reason why any of them would drop by at that precise moment. When he caught sight of Muriel’s face, he raised an eyebrow.

‘Muriel,’ he called, trying to hide his confusion.

‘Hello, Gilbert. Mind if I join you?’ Her words were said softly, with certain respect and carefulness in her voices.

‘Not at all,’ he replied, scooting over to make space for her on the bench.

‘Beautiful place for thought and contemplation,’ she observed. ‘Very still, very… peaceful.’

‘That it is,’ he agreed. Ever since she and Bash had gotten closer, Gilbert had discovered how much she resembled his dear Anne, how she just had to think aloud and very wordily, albeit she’d grown to keep that part of herself reserved solely for close acquaintances. It flattered him that she felt comfortable enough to share her mind with him.

‘Are you visiting Mary?’

‘My father, actually. He’s buried here, too.’

‘Oh, I’m so very sorry. That was careless of me.’

He smirked. ‘Not to worry, one does become comfortable with the absence of loved ones in time, however much one might miss them.’

She smiled. ‘Very well put. I miss my husband very much, but I’m no less happy at my life right now for it.’

‘Jonah, right? I don’t mean to pry, but Emily has told me a little about him.’

‘It’s fine, I imagined they would. Emily and he were like siblings, it’s only natural Edward and she would bring him up.’ She rubbed her hands in seek of warmth or relief of anxiety, he was not sure. ‘Has he answered your questions? Your father, I mean.’

‘He’s not very talkative right now,’ he jested, and saw Muriel chuckle softly. ‘But I gather he’s at peace with the choices I’ve made so far.’

‘Do you think he would’ve preferred you to go to Paris?’

‘ _He_ would’ve preferred to go to Paris, but the more time I spend in Toronto, the more I think about it… I suspect he would’ve advised me to stay. He travelled to many places for a long time, and he truly loved it, travelling, I don’t think he regretted it at all. I think, however, he would’ve told me I can always travel later down the line, but love is all about timing. I suppose it’s never the right time to marry someone you don’t love, and the timing with Anne was then. I can still go to Paris someday.’

‘You do love her, don’t you?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘I’m here in the name of love, myself.’

‘How so?’

‘I’m hoping for a positive response. As little as I got to know her, she seemed like a very generous woman.’

‘Mary?’

‘I’m hoping she won’t mind I’m marrying her husband.’ She sighed. ‘I know Jonah won’t mind, he was very well appraised in my tendency to be venturous in life and relationships. I don’t know how Mary would feel about a widow coming into her husband and her children’s lives, however.’

‘She would be delighted Delly will have yet another person looking after her well-being,’ Gilbert assured her. ‘And she would be relieved Bash will have someone to keep him warm during winter.’

Muriel giggled. ‘He does hate the cold, doesn’t he?’ She took one of Gilbert’s hands in hers. ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course. You’re family, too.’


	17. She Knew Not How to Support Herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooo sorry it took me so long to update. Bright side: I think I'll post tomorrow as well (fingers crossed). Thank you so much for your lovely comments and support! <3 Here's hoping you'll feel reading this chapter as I did writing it.

The pie was as beautiful as she hoped it would be tasty. As much as that chapter of their lives had been painful, she had since treasured Mr. Dunlop’s revelation that pies could indeed be decorated, much to Marilla’s disagreement. She’d placed dough shaped like snowflakes on it, to give it a seasonal feeling, and sang to herself joyously. A knock on the door took her from her hypnotised contemplation of the oven as it cooked her pie. She turned to see Gilbert on the kitchen door, and she panicked for half a second.

‘You’re early!’ She accused, matter-of-factly, gesturing for him to come in without even a kiss.

‘Hello to you, too,’ he replied, confused at her less-than-elated state. ‘I thought you’d be happy to have me here for longer than anticipated.’

She sighed. ‘I do I just—’ she gestured towards herself. ‘I haven’t changed and I’m all dirty, I don’t want to dirty your clothes with flour.’

‘I don’t care about a little flour.’ He looked around, taking off his jacket, hat, and scarf. ‘Isn’t Marilla home?’

‘She went to deliver some bread and scones to Mrs. Lynde,’ she replied absent-mindedly, as she cleaned her hands on her apron and took it off, turning to face Gilbert with a little more calm in her system. She put her hands on the table behind her to rest her weight lazily on it.

‘Matthew?’

‘Still outside, putting things in order so he can receive the New Year with an orderly farm. Didn’t you see him as you walked here?’

‘Must’ve been inside the barn, I didn’t catch sight of him.’ Anne nodded, like that was probably what had happened. He looked at her and gave her a playful smirk. ‘So…’

‘So?’ Anne stared at him, blinking slowly for a second, her thoughts still on the pie in the oven and how she had to take it out at the exact right time.

‘You look pretty with flour in your hair,’ he said, walking closer to her. ‘But you could use a bit more here.’ He picked some leftover flour on the table with his finger and dirtied her nose.

‘An unwise move, Mr. Blythe.’ She declared once the surprise of the action had worn off. ‘I am not wearing my best clothes.’ She lifted her hands from the table, and traced a white line on his suit. ‘That’s a warning.’

‘Fair warning,’ he observed. ‘But as I’ve already stated, I don’t care about a little flour.’ He took her hands and placed them over his chest before taking her face in his hands and kissing her sweetly. She raised her hands to wrap around his neck and kissed him back. Kissing Gilbert gave her the silliest tingle all over, like a most pleasant and unexpected chill in her veins. She could smell the cotton and the wool of his clothes, and the smoke of his home’s stove and the wood he probably helped chop each morning, as well as a faint spicy smell that had surely rubbed off on him due to Hazel’s cooking. And then there was him. That particular scent that she had seldomly smelled before, thin with the distance that had often stood between them.

He was so lost in the feeling of her lips and his heart beating in his ears, it really did take him by surprise when one of her hands left his neck and returned to dust his cheek with flour. She separated herself from him with a devilish grin on her lips and his parted in stupefaction.

‘That’s foul play,’ he declared.

‘You only say so because you didn’t think of it first.’

‘Oh, now we’ll see who thinks first,’ he said, turning to the table at the same time as she did, and they both held fistfuls of flour intimidatingly. Before any of them could act, the door of the kitchen swung open.

‘No, you don’t!’ Marilla exclaimed. ‘I will not have you two dirty my kitchen and waste any flour.’ They both turned, flabbergasted into agape mouths, their eyes so wide Marilla almost thought they’d seen a ghost. ‘Well? What are you two standing there for? Anne, go to your room and change.’

‘Yes,’ she said before tucking some loose hair strands behind her ears and walking out of the kitchen.

‘Gilbert, would you mind helping me out? Seeing as you’re early and all,’ she added, leaving a basket on the kitchen table, and he nodded. As she got closer, she saw the flour on Gilbert’s suit. ‘My, Gilbert, how did you get those flour marks on your suit?’

His cheeks reddened as he remembered he’d put Anne’s dirty hands on his chest. ‘I—’

‘It was a properly regulated battle, I’m sure, but for her to shove you… that girl is much too brusque. Do forgive her rashness, Gilbert.’ She was already using a rag to pat the flour off him, motherly in her motions and attentions.

‘Oh, no, I – we are both to blame.’

She looked at him, analysing his face. ‘Yes, I suppose you must like that about her, otherwise I wouldn’t have walked into a pre-war scene.’ He smiled apologetically.

‘So, you said to help you?’

‘Yes, we need to set the table. And would you mind lighting the fire on the parlour?’

‘Right away.’ When he turned, a diverted smile crept into Marilla’s lips, and Matthew found her like that, grinning and giggling to herself, when he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ He asked, confused.

‘Oh, it’s just Rachel. She urged me to hurry home, saying it was unwise to leave Anne home alone when she was courting but – had she known—’ she couldn’t continue, chuckling again.

Matthew gave her a curious look. ‘Known what?’

‘Gilbert was here when I arrived, like she predicted, but her mind is far more sinful than the children are. Although, I suppose, they’re not children anymore.’

‘I suppose not. Speaking of them, where are they?’

‘They’re at the parlour. Could you check on them? Make sure they prove Rachel wrong twice. Dinner will be ready soon.’

‘Alright.’ Matthew directed himself slightly nervously. He’d seen Gilbert walking up to Green Gables from the barn, but he’d decided against chaperoning. He did not want to bother them, and he at least hoped Anne would be smart enough to keep them from any serious trouble. At most, he knew it. He found them in the parlour, like Marilla had said, and to his relief it did not seem like he’d interrupted anything. Indeed, Anne and Gilbert were sitting, pen and paper in hand, scribbling something and trying to keep the other from reading what they were writing.

‘Matthew!’ Anne exclaimed when she saw his face enter the parlour. ‘You’re just in time. We’re writing our hopes for the New Year. What do you hope for? This one’s extra special: the beginning of a century.’

‘Ah, I believe you said something similar of this year as well: the end of a century,’ he chuckled heartily.

‘It’s not my fault they happen sequentially, is it?’ She handed him some paper. ‘So? Will it be to win biggest vegetable at this year’s county fair?’

‘Didn’t you say it’s supposed to be a secret?’ Gilbert interjected.

Matthew nodded. ‘It’s only fair we keep the mystery.’

‘So, what do we do with these after we’ve written them?’ Gilbert asked, holding his paper, twice folded.

‘We hide them for safekeeping, in a location we must remember, so we can read them when the year is over and see if they came true,’ Anne explained.

‘We read them at dinner,’ Matthew added, the love for his daughter overflowing his every pore.

‘Well I’ll have nothing to read.’

‘You can read mine,’ Anne suggested. ‘I think you’ll find it funny.’

‘What did you hope for “the end of the century”?’

‘You’ll know at dinner.’

‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ Marilla said, coming into the parlour. ‘Oh, I should write mine, too.’

. . .

This time around, Muriel Stacy rang the bell one minute to five, the agreed upon time, no grease on her hands, her hair up in a neat bun. The look the maid gave her upon welcoming her into the house was not very different from the one she had spared her the very first time she’d been bidden to tea with the Progressive Mothers. Indeed, the fire burning boastfully in the fireplace did nothing to defrost the icy looks she received as she took a seat among the women in the parlour.

‘Miss Stacy, so nice of you to join us today,’ said Mrs. Andrews. She was one of the few whose name she searingly remembered, their story long and rocky.

‘Thank you for the invitation,’ she smiled politely.

‘Well, we were entrusted to deliver the news, it would not do in another context,’ Mrs. MacPherson explained.

‘The news?’ Muriel asked, confused.

‘Well, the board of trustees has taken a vote,’ Mrs. Morrison began.

‘And since it’s obviously true what has reached their ears,’ Mrs. Pye continued, landing her eyes on her engagement ring. Muriel suddenly understood everything.

‘We are to inform you your contract will be terminated at the end of the term,’ Mrs. Andrews concluded.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see how my private life has any incidence in the terms of my contract.’

‘We just don’t think it’s okay for our children to learn such associations are appropriate,’ Mrs. Morrison explained.

‘The vote of the board is final. We appreciate all the effort you’ve made to ensure our children’s education, which is why we allowed for you to stay until the end of the term, so you can find a new job in the meantime,’ Mrs. MacPherson added. ‘Although you’re not to socialise with the students the news of your… union.’

‘In the end, it seems you were not the right fit for our town after all,’ Mrs. Andrews remarked.

‘I see,’ Muriel sighed. She stood solemnly, with poise she rarely took the time to project out of the classroom. ‘If I may, I would like to make a suggestion.’

‘In regards to what?’ Asked Mrs. MacPherson, apparently astonished she would even dare.

‘You should strongly consider changing PMSC to CMSC. You see, when you use your position in society to defend the progress that has been made so far instead of fostering further progress, that’s called conservatism. There’s nothing progressive in sewing, tea, or the plotting of wealthy wives to perpetuate their privileges.’ She made her way to the exit of the parlour, agape mouths and stunned eyes following her in silence. ‘But I suppose it’s far easier for narrow minds to paint the Lord with blue eyes and forget he was a middle-eastern man who dined with prostitutes and beggars.’ Her heart was pounding in her ears as she stepped out of the parlour and out of the house, unaware if she’d just caused herself to lose her job earlier than informed. However, if she could not persuade them out of their backward thinking, she would at the very least speak her mind. She’d remained tame and quiet for far too long.

. . .

‘Can’t you leave tomorrow?’ Anne asked. Delly was babbling in her arms, and Hazel kept fretting after Gilbert, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.

‘The trip is quite tiring, I want to have a day to rest properly before classes begin,’ Gilbert explained.

Anne lowered her eyes. ‘I know. I just – one has a right to hope.’

He chuckled. ‘Next time we see each other we’ll have plenty of time together.’

‘You’re right.’ She set Delly down in her crib and smiled resignedly.

After Gilbert had said his goodbyes to his family, they hopped on the sleigh, and let Burty carry them to Bright River. The day was cold and slightly humid, making the air yet more painful to breathe. Anne didn’t mind the feeling in the least. She liked the striking snow and the trace the sleigh left on the snow behind them, a perfect path of what had been already travelled.

‘I still can’t believe your primary hope for 1899 was to be first place at the entrance exams.’

‘Why?’ she looked at him, curiously. ‘I was,’ she said proudly.

‘I thought your aspirations would be a little less… sensible.’

‘Well, although I have a very wild imagination, and the span of a year does provide quite an array of possible adventures, it is rather disappointing when my dreams do not turn out to be true at the end of the year,’ she confessed. ‘Plus, I’ve found most of my aspirations take longer than a year to fulfil themselves.’

‘Yeah?’ He asked, with a playful glint in his eyes that made Anne roll her eyes.

‘I never wrote about you in any of my papers, if that’s what you’re implying.’ She saw him act offended, but she ignored him. ‘I meant stuff like – for example, I wrote year after year I could find a nice family to work for, or to actually be adopted and leave the orphanage once and for all, and it only happened after almost a decade of papers.’

Gilbert went very quiet for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, that was careless of me.’

‘I’m not. It happened in the end; I left the orphanage. I found the Cuthberts. I found Diana and Cole. I found you,’ she grinned warmly.

‘We’ve never talked much about it, the orphanage.’

‘There’s not much to say about it. It was awful, writing stories and whatever book I could steal or read in secret to keep my sanity. I wouldn’t wish it to my worst enemy.’ Her expression wavered into some sort of distant recollection of a painful memory.

‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘I just – anything is more conversation-worthy than my years as a homeless orphan. I think those years built my character and they’re definitely a part of me but… in time I’ve learnt is an experience no one wants to hear and that I don’t particularly like to relive.’ She felt Gilbert’s gloved hand on hers and looked up to find him looking at her differently than people usually did. People looked at her with either pity or horror. Gilbert’s eyes only held love, the same that was in them whenever she caught him staring at her.

‘I understand. Just know that if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.’ He sighed. ‘Or to read,’ he chuckled softly, scratching his head with the confusing feeling of their imminent separation. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘You said it yourself: we’ll see each other in a few months, and then we’ll have a whole summer together.’

‘I’m just nervous for us. Will we be able to stand four and a half more years of this?’ Anne rose her eyebrow incredulous.

‘Do you have so little faith in me? In us?’

‘Of course not. But… I still worry.’

‘You’re not getting out of this one, if that’s what you’re hoping for,' she said, giggling.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘So, you said that I should be able to meet Kitt when I visit in the summer. How come he’s living in a boarding house if his family if from Toronto?’

‘They live a little out of town, I believe, and apparently they could afford it.’

‘I would love to keep living in Green Gables if I could, even if it took a little longer to get to Queen’s.’

‘I’ve already told you how much Kitt appreciates his sleep. I bet he thinks every extra minute he can sleep before class is precious.’

Anne chuckled. At last they reached the station, their fingers interlaced in a longing gesture, snow beginning to fall around them. They did their best to remain optimistic, but there was no denying the heartache of parting once again, especially since they’d been so close together at the beginning of the holidays. They craved more and they did not even have the time to craft stupid adolescent plans that would be discarded in the end. They stood on the station, the snow swirling around them, as the wind picked up and the world grew colder. Anne could barely feel the warmth of Gilbert’s hands through their gloves. The warmth of their skin during their clandestine encounter was a remote recollection. Still, none gave a sign to leave first, and they stood nailed in place for perilously freezing minutes. Lost in each other’s eyes, the whistle of the soon-to-depart train brought them back to reality. They kissed, but it was short and hurried as an “All aboard!” interrupted them, and a sob got caught in her throat as she tried to say goodbye. Still, she smiled, convinced her tears should be reserved for truly sad things. They’d see each other again; it was not a permanent farewell. Gilbert smiled apologetically as he got on the train.

His ‘See you this summer!’ was muted by the blaring of the train. They waved at each other until they were out of sight. Anne’s tears then felt frozen in her eyes as she resolved to be angry instead of despondent.

‘I bet you’re the same, Burty,’ she spat, bitterly. ‘You encourage the attention of mares on town and then leave for Green Gables as you please.’ Her anger lasted until the warmth of the fire had taken away the numbness from her fingertips. It was childish to be angry at Gilbert for studying in Toronto, and she knew it. Though she also knew the truth of the matter to be fairly simple: ire was much easier to deal with than woe. She just missed him.

. . .

Muriel was trying to get Thomas to drink a cup of tea while Rachel and Marilla talked in the kitchen. Thomas had lost much weight and was not eating anymore. She’d changed his bandages twice before, and the scene was grotesque: not even Baudelaire could’ve created a more decadent vision, the tissue blackened and putrid.

In the kitchen, Marilla and Rachel tittered in spite of the situation. Rachel could not believe Marilla had found Gilbert and Anne _ad portas_ of a flour fight.

‘I must admit, Marilla, I would have never predicted such an occurrence. Perhaps you are not so mistaken in trusting them. Now, that they didn’t do anything then, it doesn’t mean they won’t ever do anything.’

‘I seem to recall you and Thomas shared a couple kisses before marriage.’

Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Kisses, Marilla. Just kisses.’

‘Well, I don’t see the harm in allowing them space enough so they can kiss a little.’

Rachel arched an eyebrow. ‘Look at you, all grown up. A couple years ago so flustered because Anne was asking about kisses and now allowing her to do some kissing of her own.’

‘One has to get with the times.’

‘If only everyone in this town did so, too.’ Rachel shook her head disapprovingly. ‘Admittedly, it has taken me a while to broaden my mind but, if anything, I serve as an example that it is possible to overcome prejudice.’

‘Don’t even remind me of it,’ Marilla said. ‘My blood boils whenever I remember how we were outvoted so soundly.’ Muriel walked in then, timely as ever. ‘Oh, Muriel, we’re so sorry we couldn’t do anything to stop the board from firing you.’

‘You don’t have to apologise again,’ she said, holding her free hand up to appease them.

‘Didn’t Thomas drink his tea?’ Rachel asked.

‘He would not swallow another spoonful.’

‘Give it to me, I’ll insist. He barely eats, he needs the fortification,’ Marilla said, taking the cup from her.

‘Will you be alright in that marriage, Muriel?’ Rachel was putting a pie in the oven as she spoke.

‘No marriage is perfect,’ Muriel recognised. ‘But we understand the strife of being different.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s ironic, your edict was that the two of us had to marry, and here we are, engaged.’ Rachel tittered.

‘Well, life’s funny like that.’ She looked at Muriel out of the corner of her eye. ‘I cannot say I’m not disappointed I won’t be welcoming you into my family, but I’m glad for you and Bash.’

‘We’re already family, Rachel.’ She smiled candidly. ‘You saw to it to meddle in my life since the very beginning. Who but family to busy themselves like that.’ Before Rachel could reply, they heard the cup shattering.

‘Rachel!’ Marilla clamoured from the bedroom. They rushed themselves to Thomas’s bedside. Marilla held her head carefully, drooping lifelessly. Tears filled the brim of her eyes.

Rachel saw her husband’s body devoid of intent in its posture and a pitiful, unbearable sob escaped her. She ran from the doorway to his side in a second, and Marilla took a step back to let her hold him.

‘Thomas,’ she said, despite knowing it was useless. ‘Thomas, you can’t.’ Her tears seemed to be made of lead, weighing her down as they rolled off her chin. Muriel and Marilla knew not what to do but to look away to give them – her, at least a semblance of privacy. ‘Who’ll kiss me goodnight, Thomas? You know I don’t like to sleep alone in our bed.’ She was interrupted by an unexpected wail of her own. ‘I know we said “till death us do part”, but I never thought we could leave separately if we’ve lived together.’ Rachel had known this would happen sooner than later, but no amount of time could’ve ever prepared her to lose the love of her life.

* * *

On the train, Gilbert found himself cold as the window next to him, so he opened a book and began studying. Four more months. It was not long before the telegram arrived. What a terrible way to begin a new century.


	18. I Will Make No Promise of the Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me a little longer than expected, but here it is. Once again, thank you so much for all your comments, you're the best! <3

_Dear Gilbert,_

_I am still enraged ~~Miss Stacy~~ Muriel was fired from her work. I know she was given time to find a post elsewhere, but she shouldn’t have been fired in the first place. I wonder whether her students will fight so she can stay. I suggested we protest the decision, but she confessed to me her temper won the best of her and she ended up telling the PMSC a couple truths that will forever deter them from supporting her. She heard a post has opened in Carmody because the current teacher got married and will stop teaching to take care of her house and children. Mrs. Lynde said so, too, that since she and Bash are getting married, perhaps getting fired, although certainly unfair, needn’t be so terrible._

_I hope you don’t expect me to quit my job if we ever get married. I would die of boredom if I were expected to stay home all day. Quite frankly, I don’t know how Marilla does it. I truly admire her for that, she’s able to keep Green Gables homely and running year-long without ever complaining about the scrubbing and dusting and cooking and baking and sewing. Why are women expected to sacrifice their lives at home? Why are they expected to be the sole carers and educators and keepers of their children and homes? Don’t men have hands? Don’t women have dreams and aspirations, too? I would want to teach until I can no longer hold the chalk in my fingers, until I my knees complain about my weight and I can’t remember things very well. I suspect Muriel feels similarly._

_Mr. Lynde was doing very poorly when I left Avonlea. I would hate to begin a new year on such a sad note. These situations make me feel so frustrated, I wish I were a member of the board of trustees to make sure Muriel kept her job. I wish I were a doctor with enough knowledge to save Mr. Lynde. I wish I knew how to guide people through loss so it didn’t hurt so much. I wish I had more power so I could save Ka’kwet and the other children taken from their families. I take heart knowing the strife of humankind seems to be this: to be powerless on their own, but to be fearful in sum. I believe that’s why I’m drawn to education. I want to ensure future generations are people who are independent thinkers, and are creative, kind, caring individuals. I want to ensure my students become adults who know they have the possibility and the right to take action, that they are stronger together than on their own, and that they should fight for the things they believe in. I think the world needs a little more imagination._

_On a very different note, I got an invitation from Aunt Jo to attend her summer soirée this February. I can have a guest attend with me, and I am ever so sorry you are away in Toronto because I would’ve loved to attend with you. I missed it last year, studying for the entrance exams, but it’s truly the most marvellous of celebrations, the decorations are wondrous, the costumes and clothes people wear are as extravagant as they are awe-inspiring, and of course I would’ve loved for you to experience it all first hand. You must expect a most detailed letter after the party._

_Details of my spicy plans: add sautéed paprika to meals._

_The star of Sirius shines brightly tonight, and I miss you dearly, I really do._

_Hoping for a revival of that one night,_

_Anne_

_My Dearest Anne,_

_Kitt has been pestering me to send you his regards, so I’ll write it right away to get it out of the way. I arrived in Toronto to find he, Mary Ann, and Christine all had gotten me Christmas presents, which was truly embarrassing, since I had gotten them none. I believe they will not let me live it down any time now. Mrs. Harrison welcomed us warmly, there was even hot cocoa, which I was eternally grateful for, the train ride long and cold. I won’t even mention how cold the ferry was._

_Muriel told me only a day before I had to leave and, much like you, I’m still indignant about it. However, she said she did not want me to meddle and I could not fight her about, especially since I wasn’t going to be there to see the result of any actions I could take at the moment. It is truly trying to be far away when terrible things happen. I suspect if Mr. Lynde departs, I will too have to read about it instead of being able to offer my condolences in person, even after everything Mrs. Lynde has done for my family. Now, in regard to your concern, I can reassure you I suspected as much. I would never dare to tie you down. Not only would it prove unsustainable in the long run—and require much too struggle to be worth it—, but I believe it would kill your spirit and everything I love about you. It would serve no purpose. In fact, since I am more inclined to research, I could work from home at times, if the situation called for it. I’m sure we could find a balance. Moreover, thanks to Delly, I’ve already had some first-hand experience and I would say I’m not half-bad at it – I cannot expect Bash to corroborate this information, it would give him much too satisfaction to make fun of me, so please do not enquire about it, unless you want to hear about my mistakes: they mostly have to do with my poor cooking. Worry not, for all other chores and purposes, I do have hands._

_You, better than anyone, know how akin I am to frustration and how often I run into walls. I do believe you to be different, however. You never give up, you keep looking for a solution, you think of every single possibility. I think, perhaps, if you hadn’t been there to reassure me, I might’ve changed career paths, as much as I learn every day that I could not have possibly chosen another profession. What would it be of me if I had given up on medicine? I’d probably be miserable, trying to help Bash and Elijah at the orchard. I have, no doubt, your calling to be a teacher is true and deserves an answer. Do never let society’s expectation keep you from answering, although I know you would never lie to yourself like that, it’s not in your nature._

_I sincerely hope I could attend the soirée with you, I’m sure you’ll look lovely dressed for a fancier occasion and I’ll miss it. It would’ve been a great opportunity to dance with you and then kiss you in a room far from the ballroom, Miss Josephine’s permissiveness a favour I could never repay. I’m certain I would’ve paid little attention to the decorations and the other guests; my eyes would not leave you for a second. We can only hope for Miss Josephine to keep these celebrations going until I’m finally able to attend. Seeing how regretful I am to miss the event, must you tease me so? I said you only had to share them if you were comfortable in doing so. There was no need to make fun of me like that – although, admittedly, I did laugh. It made Kitt curious about the contents of the letter, and I had to make sure he wasn’t trying to read over my shoulder before I could finish reading._

_There are no stars tonight, the heavens are a dull and shallow with clouds. Still, I think of you unwaveringly each and every night._

_Yours every day and night,_

_Gilbert_


End file.
